Arnor High School
by Red Pen Ninja
Summary: Aragorn is student body president, Legolas is president of the nature club, Boromir is a haughty soccer player, Gimli wrestles, and the hobbits are freshmen. When their beloved principal is sacked, these unlikely friends must team up with an old guidance counselor and save their school from the forces of evil!
1. Chapter 1

A steady, slow stream of cars poured into the parking lot, some taking the winding turn towards the front of the school for carpool, others racing through the student lot, searching desperately for a space. From these cars came teenagers, shouting or silent, toting iPods and backpacks, all with exhaustion glazed over their eyes and hearts pounding. All around was madness, a constant sea of motion, girls shrieking and hugging, guys laughing a deep, barking chuckle and pounding each other on the back, freshmen cowering and hurrying through the doors, seniors standing on top of the old benches and watching the scene with little to no interest.

One such senior was Aragorn "Strider" Elessar, captain of the soccer team, last year's prom king, student body president, so on, so forth. His grey eyes surveyed the school courtyard as if it was his kingly realm, looking for a friend.

"Legolas!" he shouted, grinning widely and tucking dark brown hair behind his ears. He leapt off of the bench and pushed through the crowd to greet his best friend.

"Hey, man," Legolas smiled gently, inhaling a deep breath. "Don't you just love morning air?"

Aragorn rolled his eyes, Legolas was president of the Keep Arnor High Beautiful Club and was always going on about how much he loved nature, even at seven in the morning on the first day of school.

"Yeah, it's great," he humored his blonde friend. "Hey, uh, you haven't seen Boromir have you?"

Blonde, tall, and haughty, Boromir played soccer with Aragorn. Despite being one year younger than him, he was completely and utterly convinced that Aragorn was unfit to lead his beloved soccer team. Until last season, Aragorn hadn't played, but when he joined, he was quickly elected captain by everyone but Boromir, who believed that the team had been fine before him, and still didn't need him.

"Scared of a little confrontation?" Legolas smirked.

"No," Aragorn sighed. "I just don't want to start something unnecessary."

"I've got your back," his friend assured him. "You're the rightful captain and no one can take that away from you."

"Thanks, man."

The bell chimed, hard and loud, as it always did. It sent an electric reaction through the swarm of kids gathered outside, prompting everyone to try to cram through four doors all at the same time. Principal Isildur stood inside by the doors to the main office, sending his warm, wise smile towards all those who passed by him on their way to homeroom.

"Remember," he called. "Assembly this morning!"

Upon seeing Aragorn, his face lit up and he beckoned for him to come closer.

"Ah, Aragorn, welcome back!" he gestured around the school with pride. "I hear you're student body president this year."

"Yes, sir," Aragorn answered as politely as he could, avoiding Isildur's direct gaze and crazy, curly hair. The principal was a bit eccentric, but Aragorn still respected him, despite how hard he found it to talk to him.

"Good, good. I see a true leader in you, son," he flashed white, shiny teeth. "We'll be a great team, you and I, make this year really great, hm?"

"Yes, sir," he repeated, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small smile back.

Isildur smiled again and then shooed him away, "Best be off, I'll see you at the assembly."

Legolas snickered as he rejoined Aragorn, falling into step with his quick, long stride, "What was that all about?"

"He's proud of me for being president, I guess," Aragorn answered with a shrug.

Legolas threw a gaze back over his shoulder, sending golden hair flying, "He's so…different."

"Careful," he warned. "I like him." But try as he might, Aragorn could not forget the plastic, fake smile and the worry in the man's dark eyes. What could that mean? Usually Isildur was so kingly and proud, not nervous and faltering.

The two rounded the corner and entered their homeroom class. Everything looked the same, from the literature posters lining the walls to the neat, straight rows of the boring, cramped desks. At the front, a group of freshmen worriedly murmured amongst themselves, waiting for the teacher to enter.

"Who're those kids?" Aragorn wondered aloud as he sat down heavily in a desk.

"They've mixed all the grades in homerooms," a smooth, smug voice answered from behind him. "That's why I'm here."

Aragorn turned and met sparkling storm-gray eyes and a small smile, "Oh. Boromir."

"Yup," sighed the second soccer player. "I was hoping to be in Mr. Denethor's homeroom again with Beregond, but everyone got switched around. So you're still captain?"

"Yes, yes I am," Aragorn sighed again, exchanging a glance with Legolas, who had his long legs reclined in the middle of the aisle.

A brown-haired blur shuffled by them quickly, before tripping over Legolas' outstretched legs, "Oi! Watch it, blondie!"

Legolas surveyed the tripper slowly, carefully, from his potato-like nose and small, brown eyes to his short, broad stature, whiskery chin, and light brown, messy hair.

"I know you," the blonde's eyes narrowed. "Last year, you were that sophomore wrestler who kicked my flowers! You're…uh…Gimli!"

"For the last time, that was my friends! I am a wrestler of honor and I do not kick flowers," Gimli protested with frustration, balling his huge fists up. "Let it go!"

"I am not going to let it go, not until you and your friends do service hours for my club. Until then, the guilt is on your con—"

"_Suilad_, everyone, take a seat!" A calm voice ordered from the front. His brown eyes found Legolas and Gimli in mid-fight. "Mr. Greenleaf, please leave our new homeroom member alone. And Mr. Gloinson, take the seat behind him."

Gimli swore under his breath and sunk into the seat behind Legolas, crossing his beefy arms in defiance.

"Now, for those of you who don't know me," continued the teacher. "I am Mr. Halfelven. I teach Literature History and am responsible for you all for a half hour every morning. I will help you with anything if you need it, but I can make no promises when it comes to math. My classroom is a safe haven to all grades and you are all welcome here, no matter what."

Mr. Halfelven smiled a trusting, honest smile before turning to take his seat in his desk at the front. His smile melted when he turned to see the four freshmen in front of him with worried looks and pleading eyes. The class fell silent to see what they had to say.

"Is this a mistake? There's no other freshmen in here," the front one asked in a whisper, his big blue eyes peering up at Mr. Halfelven from underneath curly brown hair.

"No, this is how the homerooms are now," Halfelven answered quietly. "There's a few seats over there. In a few days, you'll be used to everyone."

The freshmen followed Mr. Halfelven's outstretched hand and pointed finger to four desks, two of which sat directly in front of Aragorn and Legolas. With a shrug, the first freshman trudged over and sat down gingerly in front of Aragorn. He was quickly followed by another portly freshman with a protective glare on his face. The last two exchanged a smirk before racing and sliding into their seats.

"Don't worry," Aragorn assured the freshman in front of him. "It's not so intimidating once you get used to it."

Blue eyes turned and met his small, genuine smile, "I know you! You're Strider, you're captain of the soccer team!"

Behind him Boromir rolled his eyes and let out a huffy, long sigh. Aragorn ignored him and continued, "Yeah, who are you guys?"

"I'm Frodo," the blue-eyed one answered. "And that's my best friend Sam." He pointed to the portly freshman whose stern gaze softened considerably into a welcoming smile.

"I'm Pippin!" came the cry from in front of Frodo. A small, blonde freshman wore a grin as wide as his face and was craning precariously out of his desk and into the aisle. "And that's my friend Merry."

"Pippin," Merry warned. "You're going to fall."

Frodo interrupted the argument about to break out with a question, "So who are your friends?" he pointed to the group sitting around Aragorn.

"Well," Aragorn began awkwardly. "That's my best friend Legolas. And, um, I play soccer with Boromir back there. But, to be honest, I don't really know him." He jerked his head in Gimli's direction.

"I just told you my name five minutes ago," grumbled Gimli from the back.

"But you're still not our friend," Legolas sniffed, reclining back in his tiny desk chair to send a glare at Gimli.

"I wouldn't want to be!"

Aragorn rolled his eyes and faced forward again. The freshmen seemed to be enjoying themselves now. They were all smiling and laughing a bit at Gimli and Legolas' spat.

The intercom shuffled with white noise for a moment before a familiar, regal voice slid over the sound system, "Good morning, everyone. At this time, I will be dismissing for the assembly. Would all homerooms in the first floor west wing please report to the auditorium? Again first floor west wing homerooms to the auditorium."

"That's us," Halfelven cried. "Now, remember. We are all sitting by _homeroom_. Do _not_ run off and find your friends."

The homeroom leapt to their feet at once and began pushing slowly through the small classroom door.

"Last one out, turn off the lights," Halfelven ordered, towering over the kids as he walked through with ease.

"Come on," Aragorn suggested to the freshmen. "We can all sit together."

Legolas smiled encouragingly down at them, "Yeah."

Someone with a heavy, commanding step walked up next to Aragorn, "I'll be coming too."

Aragorn sighed. Boromir had this annoying way of being friendly and haughty at the same time. He knew Boromir was a good guy and a loyal friend, but Aragorn didn't trust him. Maybe it was the way he hogged the ball during games, or how he never listened to Aragorn even though he was captain. Either way, he didn't want to fight and tear apart the team, so he nodded and turned back to a laughing Legolas.

"Here, we'll take these doors," Aragorn said, stepping his way gingerly through the gathered crowd towards the inside of the auditorium.

The auditorium was dark, save for the brightly lit stage where Principal Isildur already stood, surrounded by his vice principal Anarion, the head guidance counselor Mr. Gandalf, and other teachers. The stage lights glinted off of his shiny, crazy hair and pinstriped, black suit, making him look regal and commanding.

"Over here," Legolas pointed to a long row of empty seats. They shuffled in one by one, leaving an empty seat on the end next to Legolas.

"Please take your seats, everyone," Isildur cried in his most friendly voice, but it sounded strained and about to break.

A loud grunt and the sound of weight on the old auditorium seats came from Legolas' left. He turned to see none other than Gimli sitting down beside him with a light laugh.

Legolas was ready to insult him once again, but the lights dimmed and Isildur called for everyone's attention.

One look at the once proud and welcoming man told Aragorn something was wrong. Just as he had seen that same morning, Isildur's smile was hollow and plastic, ready to snap at any moment. Sweat glistened on his forehead and he rubbed his beard nervously as if searching for the right words. Usually, Isildur's words flowed easily and powerfully, as if he wasn't thinking at all when he spoke.

"I am afraid, my friends," he began, his words slow and tired. "That I have some bad news."

A murmur of fear ran through the crowd. Aragorn stiffened in his seat and shared a worried glance with Legolas.

"The school board has decided that my administration and I are not fit to lead Arnor High School anymore. They will be replacing Vice Principal Anarion and I tomorrow morning. The man they have chosen is indeed fit to lead. He is strong and cunning and a powerful leader. I expect all of you to show Principal…" he choked on the title that was his for so long. "…Sauron with the same respect that you have shown…me for so long.

"I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am to be leaving you like this. My heart and soul are in this school and I love each and every one of you very much. I still hope for the best years here for you all and please know that I still care deeply for this school and everyone in it. To you all I say, goodbye, good luck, and I am truly sorry."

Isildur stepped heavily off of the podium step and steadied himself on Anarion's outstretched arm. The sorrow was evident in his face as he walked away slowly on Anarion's arm. The students sat in complete and utter silence, too shocked to register anything, suddenly wishing they could take back all those times they had imitated Isildur's golden, firm voice and welcoming smile, all those times they had laughed at his crazy hair and eccentric ways. Aragorn stood suddenly and crept as fast as he could backstage.

Isildur sat on an old prop, slumped against the wall and staring deeply at nothing. Anarion stood next to him, equally defeated and unhappy.

"Sir?" Aragorn asked gently.

"Ah, Aragorn, my boy," Isildur straightened noticeably, attempting to regain his kingly demeanor. "What is it?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm going to be just fine," he assured him. "But I do have one favor to ask. You are still student body president, and I expect you to maintain a good relationship with Principal…" he stuttered once again on his beloved title. "Sauron. First thing tomorrow, go see him in his office and speak with him, all right?"

"Yes sir," Aragorn promised. He turned to leave, but then stopped, "Sir? I really am going to miss you."

Isildur smiled weakly, "And I you."

Slowly, Aragorn trudged back to where his friends were standing, worry etched on each of their faces, even Gimli and Boromir.

"What did he say?" Legolas asked.

"He wants me to talk to the new principal tomorrow," Aragorn said, still a bit dazed and upset.

The bell rang, dismissing the students from the assembly. Aragorn waved goodbye to the group and began a slow trudge to his first class. He rubbed his temples roughly, hoping to clear his head. Isildur was such a good man, why on earth would they replace him? And with this Sauron that no one knew? What was he going to do without Isildur to help him lead? He took a deep breath and sighed. He had promised Isildur to lead the students, no matter what and he would keep that promise. No matter how bad Sauron seemed. If only he knew…


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the first time in a little while I've gotten a story off the ground this fast. Nice. Anyway, I don't own LOTR, enjoy, etc.**

"Now you're just somebody that I used to know!" Legolas' voice slid smoothly and beautifully along with the music, smiling as he did so. He glanced over at his friend slouched in the passenger seat next to him.

"Something wrong?"

Aragorn sighed and crossed his arms in front of his Arnor High Rangers soccer T-shirt. He couldn't avoid his promise to Ex-Principal Isildur. He was still, after all, the student body president and even though he shuddered to think of someone else leading the Arnor High he was so used to, he had to maintain the honor and respect Isildur was so proud of.

"I have to go meet Principal Sauron today," he muttered bitterly.

"Oh yeah," Legolas grimaced. "Good luck."

"I think I'll need more than luck," Aragorn laughed darkly.

Legolas shrugged as he turned his Fusion into the parking lot gently, "Just…don't say anything you'll regret. Control your emotions."

"All right, Jedi Master Legolas," he snorted back.

Legolas' eyes flashed with anger, "I have the right to refuse you of rides."

Aragorn lifted himself up and out of the car with a grin, "But you won't. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to meet the Principal."

And with that, he turned on his heel and began the long walk from the parking lot down the winding sidewalk to the school, his normally squared and proud shoulders slumping the closer he got to Principal Sauron.

Line.

The office was a normally welcoming place, with a laughing, plump secretary and the wise words of Isildur's favorite books lining the walls in scripted writing. It was always busy with something, but it always made time for those who needed it, no matter how trivial their need.

Today was the opposite. The portly, boisterous woman had been replaced with a pale, greasy-haired man with a sinister smile and a hideous, slimy voice. Aragorn waited patiently behind the team of men who lugged Sauron's many boxes through the office door and down the hall to the offices. As usual, he made his way past the desk without stopping to see the secretary.

"Not so fast," hissed the slimy man. "No students see the principal."

Aragorn stopped, taken aback, and struggled to find the right words, his eyes unable to look away from the man's cold, fishy eyes, "Er, I'm Aragorn Elessar. The, uh, student body president. I was supposed to see Principal Sauron this morning."

The man looked him up and down, his disapproving glare deepening every second. But he relented and said, "Principal Sauron's office is on the right."

Aragorn's pace sped up faster than he knew it could and he rocketed into the long hallway. Doorways scattered the bare white walls and he instinctively made his way down the hall to the farthest door on the right. As he was about to turn into the principal's door, a broad, white suit complete with a smart white shirt and black tie stepped into his view and he crashed into the suit's chest.

"Watch it, boy," a smooth, commanding voice growled. Even in anger, the voice was beautiful and enchanting.

Aragorn looked up to see the speaker's neatly trimmed white hair and beard, a black stripe running under his nose and around his mouth. Dark eyes glared at him from above a pointed nose.

"Sorry, sir," he answered obediently, still a little stunned by the man's voice. He stepped aside, allowed the other man to pass, and then stepped inside Sauron's office.

He had been to Isildur's office only twice before, but he would never forget it. Old tapestries that Isildur claimed were from his long family line hung off of the walls. His desk was large and a dark, shiny wood. Behind it sat a deep green chair that always looked so comfortable in the golden light of the sun that poured in from the wide windows behind his desk. Book cases lined every wall, messy and cramped with more books than they could hold. However, there was always room for a student to sit in the plush white chair in front of his desk and he would turn from his work and smile at them.

Everything about Sauron's new office was wrong. The tapestries were gone, leaving the walls blank with absolutely nothing but their original beige paint. The bookcases were gone, too, replaced by a single podium in the corner with a thick, open book in the center. The desk stayed the same, but behind it sat an uncomfortable looking chair that was more akin to a throne than a desk chair. The chair that once sat many welcome students was gone. The emptiness of the place stunned Aragorn, but what shocked him most was Sauron himself. He stood with his back to Aragorn, drawing thick black curtains shut with a powerful yank. The sunlight Aragorn was so used to had disappeared to.

He cleared his throat to get Sauron's attention. The man turned around, looming over Aragorn and fixing his dark eyes on him mercilessly. He had slicked back, neatly combed raven black hair and unforgiving black eyes. His mouth was blood red in contrast to his pale white skin and looked stuck in a permanent sneer. His eyes seemed sunken into his paper-white skin and everything about him seemed fragile, but his shoulders were broad and he towered over Aragorn threateningly. He wore simple black suit and shirt, highlighted by a fire orange tie.

His sneering mouth opened to speak, "Student body president, yes?" His voice was deep and seemed disconnected from the rest of him as it floated into Aragorn's conscience.

"Yes, sir," he extended a hand politely to Sauron. His grip was tight on Aragorn's hand. "Principal Isildur wanted me to help him lead. I hope I can do the same with you, sir."

Sauron's eyes flashed menacingly, "Isildur's name is not to be mentioned in front of me! I am _not_ him!"

"Yes, sir, I understand, but I am supposed to…" Aragorn began respectfully, but Sauron cut him off with the full force of his powerful voice.

"Hear my words, student body president, I am the leader of this school. The sole leader! My word is law and I will not be usurped! I will not take advice from a sniveling school boy! The student government is officially and totally disbanded! You will _all_ listen to me and obey my every command! Now, get out," Sauron spat, pointing a thin, bony finger at the door.

Aragorn staggered out of the office as quickly as he could, shell-shocked by the force of Sauron's words. He walked out of the main office in a daze. There was only one person he could talk to about this, but he would have to wait until free period. He prayed it would come fast, because he desperately needed the help.

Line.

"He's terrible, he's a madman! He disbanded the student government! What are we going to do?" Aragorn's voice rose higher with fear and worry as he paced the small extent of the office.

He turned to the bent over figure for guidance, but the man was too busy digging around his desk for something. Rising from his bent-over position with a groan, the guidance counselor peered at Aragorn with sad blue eyes under thick, bushy eyebrows. He sighed and stroked his soft, grey beard pensively.

"It's not that I like Principal Sauron any better than you do," Mr. Gandalf sympathized. "After all, he put me in this broom closet of an office."

He spread out his arms to his full wingspan, the tips of his fingers nearly touching the walls. Mr. Gandalf sighed again and collapsed into his desk chair, smoothing his white tie against his dark blue shirt as he did so.

"Listen, Aragorn," he smoothed back his rather messy grey hair as he spoke. "You've tried your best. In time, it will work out if it is meant to. Now, go off to see your friends, if you ever need me, you know where to find me."

Aragorn wasn't exactly sold. He was still fuming and nervous. It would be up to him to spread the word about the student government's disbanding and he knew that no one would be happy to hear it. The students of Arnor High loved the fact that they were so involved in their own rule-making and leading. No doubt this would be the worst end to the worst few days of the first school week.

"Thanks, Mr. Gandalf," Aragorn said half-heartedly, slinging his backpack heavily over his shoulder and trudging off down the hall.

He shut the door to the office behind him, cringing as it creaked higher and louder than any door ever should. Burying his hands inside the pockets of his Arnor High Rangers sweatshirt, he hunched his shoulders and dropped his head low in defeat.

"Something wrong, Captain?"

Aragorn turned to see Boromir leaning against the wall, his buff arms crossed over his tightly fitted black tee and a smile playing on his handsome, chiseled face. The last person Aragorn ever wanted to talk to would now be the first to find out about Sauron's madness.

"Sauron disbanded the student government."

Boromir's gray eyes widened and the smug smile dropped from his face, instead replaced by a horrible scowl.

"He did _what_? We can't let him get away with this! We're the students and this is our school!"

Aragorn let out a bitter, barking laugh, "What do you propose we do, Whitetree?"

Boromir threw his hands up in the air wildly, his eyes ablaze with anger, "I don't know! But we have to do something!"

The bell chimed, echoing in the empty hallway. Out in the main hall, students scurried to class, waving goodbye and separating into smaller groups to navigate the school to homeroom.

Aragorn heaved a great, defeated sigh and was about ready to turn away, to give up and leave Boromir here to fume on his own. But something blazed inside him. Maybe it was his own anger at the new principal, maybe it was the leader inside him, maybe it was the hope that his father had always instilled in him. The hope for a better future, a better leader, a better world. Something inside him told him that he was that hope and it was up to him to lead it.

"All right, we can talk more in homeroom," he agreed in a whisper. "But we're going to need more help."

Boromir's lips twitched into a half-smile, "Help for what?"

Aragorn found himself smiling back at the junior he had once considered his arch-rival. Plans and dreams swirled through his mind and his heart beat with hope.

"A resistance."


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, I have to say I'm quite honored by all the positive feedback. Thanks guys! Expect fast updates for all this! :D**

**Disclaimer: Although a proud owner of a cat, a computer, and a Tumblr blog, Red Pen Ninja regrets to inform her beloved readers that all LOTR characters belong to the Professor, whom she greatly admires.**

For four years, Aragorn had made his home in Mr. Halfelven's classroom. He sat in the same desk, second row, third column from Halfelven's desk. He came to know the homeroom as a place of peace, good for studying and chatting with Legolas before classes, full of warm smiles from the other students, all fully mature seniors who had come to know each other well.

This year, of course, was quite different. Freshmen huddled awkwardly in the corners, random sophomores were scattered around the room, and juniors preyed on unsuspecting freshmen or talking with seniors about one thing or another. Mr. Halfelven always tried his hardest to make the room a peaceful place, and for the most part it had worked. Until today. The room was in absolute chaos when Aragorn and Boromir entered together.

"Strider!" called Frodo, hurrying over to him with his three friends behind him. "Did you hear? The student government's been disbanded!"

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up. He was certain no one else knew, but he also knew that word spread fast around Arnor High.

"How did you find out?" Boromir leaned down and inspected Frodo's genuine face with distaste.

Frodo took a big step backwards, but maintained a firm gaze at the older boy. "My friend Fatty was delivering something to the new vice principal and he heard Sauron yelling at someone. It sounded pretty scary."

Aragorn bit his lip and exchanged a glance with Boromir. Thankfully, Boromir remained silent and didn't tell the freshmen who was being yelled at.

"Take your seats everyone," Halfelven called from the front, rubbing his temples and furrowing his eyebrows in distraught, revealing his usually hidden worry lines.

Despite Halfelven's call, everyone was still up and about, exchanging angry words and balling their fists, throwing their hands about in dismay and shouting nasty things about the new principal.

"_Farn, lasta_!" Halfelven's voice rose louder and more violent than any of the students have ever heard. Gone were the angry protests and calls for action, replaced by the murmurs of apologies and the sound of feet scuffling to their seats.

The usually calm English teacher heaved a sigh and composed himself before continuing, "I understand this is hard for you all. You want to have a say in your lives, especially here, in a place filled with adults who don't understand anymore. But you must have hope. Certainly something will be worked out, whether it be through the school board, the PTA, or you yourselves. Keep hope, carry on with your days, and know that it _will _be worked out. Sauron does not have the power to do this."

Halfelven's words seemed to calm the class and slowly, they drifted back into their own light-hearted, breezy conversations. Aragorn took his seat next to a questioning group of friends.

"You were hanging with Boromir?" Legolas whispered, leaning close to him across the aisle.

"Strider, do you have a plan?" Frodo asked, his blue eyes shining with hope.

Boromir leaned forward too, craning his neck around Aragorn's form, "Actually, Captain here does have a plan."

"Really?" Merry grinned. "Can we hear?"

"Yes, out with it, lad!" Gimli encouraged gruffly.

Aragorn hesitated for a moment. Did he really want these complete strangers to help with the resistance? Of course, Legolas could join, but were the freshmen up for it? And he had only spoken four words to Gimli. But, if he could trust Boromir Whitetree, he could probably trust these guys. And besides, he had said he needed more help for a resistance.

"Boromir and I were thinking we could form a resistance. Like an underground student government," Aragorn proposed in a whisper.

The group was silent for a moment. The freshmen exchanged nervous glances and whispers, Legolas fell into his usual quiet pondering when confronted with a big decision, and Gimli leaned back, crossed his arms, and laughed.

"Well?" Boromir growled impatiently, glaring at Gimli's laughter.

"Come on, guys," Gimli chuckled. "I thought the pair of you was smart! How would an underground student government possibly help?"

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment before answering, "Well, what if we got someone high up in the chain of command to help us? We could take suggestions and make plans, give them to our inside man, and he could filter them to Sauron discreetly."

Frodo nodded energetically, "That's not a bad idea. We could really make a difference, couldn't we?"

"That's the plan, kid," Boromir smiled in approval.

"Well," Frodo began nervously, as if weighing his options. After a pause, his eyes lit up with hope and decision and he let out a sigh of remission, "I'm in."

"If you're in, so am I!" called Sam, clapping a hand on Frodo's shoulder proudly.

"We want in, too," Pippin decided, gesturing to him and Merry. "We'll show Sauron whose school this is!"

"You know I've got your back, Aragorn," Legolas smiled as he spoke to his best friend.

Aragorn and Boromir turned to Gimli expectantly. The sophomore remained stubborn and silent for a moment, before releasing a relenting sigh.

"All right, I'll join. But don't come crying to me when it all falls apart."

Aragorn felt his face break into a full-out, hopeful smile. This was their school and they would take it back. He was certain of that, with all the pride and anticipation of a soccer player before a big game.

"Thanks, you guys." And he truly did mean it. These little freshmen and complete strangers had suddenly become the people he would depend on for the whole school year.

"Now all we need is a little help from the counselor…"

* * *

Very few things in this world could make Mr. Gandalf Greyhame's jaw drop. He had seen it all, heard it all, and knew about just about everything. He was wise beyond his many years and could almost predict what people were thinking, just by watching how they acted.

But he was completely and totally caught off guard when eight students tramped into his office, spouting crazy ideas of an underground government and begging him for his help. Finally, he held up his hands and quieted the riot down.

"Now, settle down. What's your crazy idea?" he sat in his chair and leaned back, waiting and listening for the idea.

"We formed a resistance," Aragorn began a bit proudly. "Our plan is that we can take ideas from the students and plan out things, give the ideas to you, and you can secretly filter them to Sauron."

"What sort of 'things' will you be planning?" Mr. Gandalf questioned, narrowing his icy blue eyes.

Aragorn shrugged, "I dunno. Simple stuff mostly, dances and fundraisers, like an actual student government would do."

A tall, blonde boy that Gandalf recognized as Boromir White-something cut in, booming his opinion loudly, "But it is a resistance against Sauron, so maybe if things get bad, we can use it to plot against him."

"And do what? Egg his house?" The wrestler whose name alluded Gandalf barked out a laugh.

"Whitetree's got a point," Legolas put in. "Assuming Sauron is a horrible leader, maybe we as the resistance could figure out a way to stop him. But only if Sauron turns out to be incompetent, not just because we want revenge."

One of the freshmen nodded in agreement, his dark curls bobbing, "That's a good idea. But I don't want to do anything drastic right now."

"Of course not," Gandalf agreed. "But you all do have quite an idea. This way, your opinions can be heard without Sauron ever knowing."

"So will you do it?" the small, eager freshmen asked excitedly, clutching his best friend's arm.

Gandalf sighed. He couldn't risk his job, not with _him _as the vice principal. "I would love to help, but I don't think I can."

"Why not?" the wrestler growled.

"You all know the vice principal, I assume?" he began steadily.

"I might have seen him the other day," Aragorn wondered aloud. "Black and white beard, musical voice?"

Gandalf nodded grimly, "That's him. Before I worked here, he and I were co-counselors at White Council High, but he was caught in a scam and was fired. He always blamed me for it and now this is his chance to get back at me. I don't want to give him reason to fire me."

Aragorn's shoulders drooped in defeat, but he set his jaw rather nobly and answered with a slight nod of his head, "We understand, sir. Thanks anyway."

Aragorn turned to leave, parting the sea of his friends that blocked the door of the tiny room. Each one of them had defeat and disbelief etched on their faces, and a few had anger flashing in their eyes. The wrestler shook his head disapprovingly, as if he had foreseen this happening.

Often, Mr. Gandalf talked to kids about crossroads in life, decisions that will change who you are forever. Once you make them, there's no turning back. Of course, Gandalf had never thought he would have to make one of these decisions this late in his life. And yet, a crossroad lay right before him. And deep in his heart, underneath his fear and logic, he knew what he had to do.

"Wait," he called. "I'll do it. What is it again you need me to do?"

The smile of pure hope and joy that met his eyes when Aragorn turned around reassured him beyond no doubt that he had made the right decision, and that nothing but good could come from it.

They all clapped for him, and one by one introduced themselves. They brainstormed brilliant plans and ideas for the school and laughed together. And when the ground rules were laid out and the first ideas settled in everyone's mind, Gandalf relaxed in his chair and watched them leave, waving them goodbye with a smile and full of the same hope and excitement that he knew they felt too.

* * *

"Dude, what time is it?" Pippen asked as soon as they were out in the hall.

Frodo checked his watch indifferently, "Four. Why?"

"We were in there for two hours? I missed the bus!" Merry lamented.

"He loves to talk," Aragorn sympathized, smiling down at the freshmen.

Legolas shrugged, his face shining with his smile, "Oh well. But, hey, look at what we're doing! We're a resistance!"

Boromir grinned back at him, surprising everyone with his dazzling smile. A happy Boromir was a rare Boromir indeed. "I know. I'm really proud of us right now. Especially you, Captain. Not a bad idea."

Aragorn cringed inwardly at the nickname. Even while being friendly, Boromir still found a way to be condescending and snarky. But, just like on the soccer team, he had to keep his cool to prevent infighting in the resistance. And just in time, he noted, as he watched Legolas shoot a glare at the other player.

"Thanks," he answered with a calm smile as they neared the doors. "Tomorrow, we'll start for real. We can meet at lunch and talk in homeroom?"

There was a chorus of agreement from the group before they all went their separate ways, the freshmen calling their parents, Gimli beginning his walk home, and the older kids to find their cars. Even as they walked away, they found that their excitement and their hope for the next day and the rest of the year could not be daunted. It was their school and their year, and even with Sauron in charge, they would find a way to make it work and make it count, together.

**Okay, I'll be honest: Boromir and Aragorn are my absolute favorite characters and they're my favorite to write. I hope it's not too obvious. Anyway, who's watching the Olympics? I'm loving it, as always, but what did ya'll think of the Opening Ceremonies? A little odd, especially the part with the girl with the big hair and the missing cell phone. Too cliché, I think. Anyway, yay Michael Phelps and tell me what you thought of the Opening Ceremonies if you review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Me: Hey guys, ready for another chapter?**

**Aragorn: God, RPN, leave us alone! Stop messing with my life! I'm a king, not a high school senior.**

**Boromir: Hold your tongue! I love the way RPN writes me!**

**Me: BOROMIR I LOVE YOU AH.**

**Boromir: Uh…**

**Aragorn: Uh, Red Pen Ninja doesn't own us, thank the Valar.**

One week Sauron had been in charge, and one week Boromir had been a part of this resistance. If he was being honest with himself like his father always told him to be, he would say that the resistance was in fact working and that he did actually like the kids he hung out with nowadays. The freshmen looked up to him, Legolas was always kind and friendly, Gimli shared jokes and football stats with him, and Aragorn was…well, that was a work in progress.

Soccer made the relationship between him and Aragorn strained, to say the least. Boromir respected him as a player, there was no doubt about that, and he thought he was a decent guy, but Aragorn had no right to come right into the team and expect every veteran player to accept him as Captain. Life simply didn't work that way, and surely Elessar must be idealistic to think that the whole team would be behind him after one season.

But, somehow, Boromir had kept his cool. He ate lunch with the Captain and the others from the resistance every day, chatted with them idly in homeroom, and plotted in Mr. Gandalf's office after school. Their conversations were once only filled with plans for the school and backup plans in case Sauron became a menace, but as the hype from the disbanding went down and things returned to as normal as they would get, the chat turned to lazy gossip and pointless banter when the planning wasn't needed. Especially at lunch.

Boromir crossed the cafeteria, taking a large, crunching bit of his apple as he came to what had become his usual seat at the resistance table. Aragorn and Legolas acknowledged him with a 'sup nod before continuing to pour over their Calculus homework.

"How's the calc coming along, lads?" Gimli asked as he sat heavily next to Legolas, pulling out and cradling his roast beef sandwich lovingly.

"Better, if certain meat-loving sophomores weren't distracting us," Legolas commented nastily, not even attempting to hide the disgust in his voice.

"It's better than eating nothing at all." Gimli's comment drew eyes from Aragorn and Boromir to look upon Legolas' empty tray.

"I'm not hungry," came the haughty reply.

Just as Gimli was about to retort, the freshmen scurried in, Pippin waving a pile of papers excitedly as he collapsed in the chair next to Boromir.

"Look what we have! Homecoming theme requests!" Pippin threw the stack down on the table with satisfaction.

"Also, improvements to the lunch menu, ideas for this year's fine arts fundraiser, and suggestions for more clubs," Frodo added.

"My personal favorite was the Foodie Club. If I wasn't so busy with this, I'd join," Merry laughed, reading the suggestion over again.

"Go ahead and join. I'll join with you," Sam offered, reading over his shoulder with interest.

Aragorn surveyed the requests one at a time, slowly and carefully, like a true president, without a single word as he read.

"Where did you get all of these anyway?" Boromir asked impatiently.

Frodo shrugged indifferently, "The word's spread about us, so people have just been stopping me in the hallway and giving me requests. We need a better way to organize this."

Aragorn nodded solemnly, "I agree. It's gonna take us ages to go through these, let alone get any back to Gandalf."

"And we can't go through them now thanks to Calculus," Legolas shot a glare down at the hieroglyphics of numbers and symbols on his paper.

Boromir shrugged and, before he could register what was coming out of his mouth, blurted, "You could all come to my house tonight."

A wave of silence blew over the table. Usually Boromir regarded them with as little friendliness as possible, but here he was offering his house like they were simply a group of friends hanging out after school. If Boromir was being honest with them, he would have told them that they were his friends and they were perfectly welcome at his house. But he didn't; instead, he was silent and proud as always.

Aragorn, taking his stand as a leader, nodded thankfully, "Sure. If it's all right with your dad, I'll come."

Boromir snorted, "My dad's never home." His father was the mayor of Minas Tirith and took his duties very seriously, even though he was a single dad and was never home for his sons.

Slowly, the others at the table gave in, promising to arrive at six. Boromir departed in slightly good spirits. He would have never thought that he would have friends like them, but then again, he had never thought he would be in a resistance.

* * *

Aragorn was the last to arrive at the Whitetrees' large, sprawling mansion. After Boromir beeped him in the huge, iron front gate, he maneuvered his car around their fountain and parked it behind Legolas' hybrid. The mansion towered over him, a few lights illuminating the shiny windows in the dark. A simple, straight path surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges connected the driveway with the marble stairs to the door.

Aragorn's quick light step propelled him up the three tiny stairs and he knocked heavily on the mahogany double doors. A second glance showed him the intricately carved tree in the middle that he had missed before.

The door opened, splitting the tree in half, and revealed Boromir, standing behind the heavy door with messy hair, a welcoming yet complacent smile, and an Aerosmith T-shirt pulled over his muscles.

"Hey. Everybody's already here. We're in the kitchen," he greeted, shutting the door behind him as Aragorn walked in.

He continued to ramble a bit as Aragorn gazed around the house in wonder. Glassware, china, and expensive paintings lined the front room. A cozy, home fireplace dotted one wall and a piano rested by the window in the front of the house. A finely polished staircase descended down in an elegant spiral from the balcony above the main foyer, lined with a light red carpet.

"Well, come on," Boromir gestured for him to follow him, breaking Aragorn out of his reverie.

They journeyed farther into the house, passing the huge, spacious living room filled with beautiful couches and a huge flat screen TV. A cluttered yet official-looking office came next; Aragron assumed it was his father's office, followed by a room filled with a pool table, foosball, and another flat screen. They turned a corner and entered the dining room, a long room with an equally long glass table with at least twenty chairs lining it. Boromir led him around the table and pushed open a simple white door.

Just when Aragorn thought he had seen it all, they entered the kitchen. Granite counter tops and chrome appliances lined the walls. A bar was propped up against one wall, complete with little barstools and a neon Blue Moon sign hanging above it. In the back corner, behind all the counters and appliances was a simple four-person dining table dotted with snacks. His friends sat around a tall island in the center of the cooking area, chatting, eating, and reading the suggestions.

"Hey, Strider!" Pippin waved, a nacho chip dripping salsa in his hand.

"You wanna drink?" Boromir offered, gesturing to the bar nonchalantly.

Aragorn looked to his friends briefly before answering, "No, thanks."

The junior shrugged it off and dragged a barstool over for Aragorn to sit on.

"Thanks, man," he said as he threw his legs over the stool and sat down.

The conversation continued, something about this year's football team if Aragorn was following it correctly. They read and tossed out the ideas that were useless and put the new ones in another pile for more consideration. Boromir and Gimli complained about Elladan and Elrohir, the stars of the football team, while Legolas defended them with vigor. The freshmen chatted about Sam's newest crush, a girl named Rosie, and asked Aragorn for his help.

"I bet the Captain's had loads of experience, right?" Boromir's laugh was condescending and haughty, but his eyes were kind.

Aragorn shrugged as he discarded an idea in the useless pile, "I guess so. I've only ever had one steady girlfriend though."

"Who?" Merry asked with a grin.

"Arwen Evenstar!" Legolas chortled, grinning at his friend encouragingly.

"What? Isn't that Halfelven's daughter?" Gimli asked, furrowing his brow.

"Wait, if she's his daughter, why's her last name Evenstar?" Pippin questioned.

Aragorn rolled his eyes at Legolas before getting everyone to shut up so he could answer, "Evenstar's her mother's name, and since her mother died, she took it as an honorary thing. Her dad doesn't mind. But he's pretty protective of her. She doesn't even go to Arnor."

"Yeah, she's at that private school Imladris Day, right?" Legolas piped up.

"Yup. So I never really get to see her, but last time I saw her, we had a pretty nice date."

"So things are still going strong?" Sam asked dreamily.

Aragorn nodded, but said nothing. He wasn't really sure if things were still going strong, considering it had been almost two weeks since they had last hung out. He missed Arwen, but he wouldn't dare go to her house with Halfelven breathing down his back. Aragorn did like Mr. Halfelven and he hoped the feeling was mutual, but ever since his wife died a few years back, he'd gotten so protective of his daughter.

"Anyway, have we decided this year's homecoming theme yet?" Boromir flipped through a pile of papers.

"I thought we had narrowed it down to Under the Sea and A Renaissance Ball," Frodo offered.

"I like Under the Sea," Legolas voiced.

"Yes, well,_ I_ like the Renaissance thing," Gimli jumped upon the chance to contradict Legolas.

"I agree," Merry voiced.

"And so do I," Pippin threw his arm around Merry happily, which Merry shook off with a laugh.

"I like 'em both," Sam shrugged. "But the Renaissance one sounds really cool."

"I'm down with the ocean one," Boromir added.

"Well, that's two for the ocean and four for the Renaissance," Aragorn counted. "Looks like it's down to us, Frodo. I vote Renaissance."

Frodo sighed, "Me too."

"All right! Renaissance it is!" Merry high-fived Pippin with a whoop.

"Someone write it down so we can give it to Mr. Gandalf," Boromir instructed.

"On it!" Legolas grabbed a blank sheet of paper and wrote down the idea and its details in his perfectly scripted handwriting.

After that decision was made, things slowly fell from the official, important talk of the resistance to laugh-filled, silly banter about Aragorn and Arwen, Sam and Rosie, and the football team. Eventually, though, everyone did leave, only after they had devoured two pizzas and watched an episode of _Criminal Minds _together. As Boromir watched them go, he sighed, but it was a happy sort of sigh. A sigh because the kids from the resistance weren't only his friends, they were his ridiculous, argumentative, immature friends. And they were here to stay.

**Yup, more decision making for the resistance/Fellowship. Not really much epic-battle-against-Sauron lately, but I promise you that'll change with the next chapter. But no spoilers here, you'll just have to wait and see :) Confession: I listened to all Disney movie songs while writing this. Topping the charts were "Honor To Us All" from Mulan, "I Won't Say I'm In Love" from Hercules, and "Prince Ali" from Aladdin. Don't judge. You know you've done it. So, what's your favorite Disney song? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Guys, I have 20 reviews on a 4 chapter story. SO AWESOME! This story is really bringing my love for writing back to life. I sorta slipped away during the school year, but now I'm slowly getting back and improving my previously mediocre skills. Thanks to all my reviewers and followers, especially those who favorited this story or me, even though it's not even done yet :)**

**Disclaimer: What are you Tolkien about? I don't own Lord of the Rings.**

Something Frodo had learned as a freshman was that no matter how much you slept, no matter how early you went to bed, and no matter how much coffee, caffeine, or sugar you poured into your system you would always be tired. Waking up promptly at quarter of six every day was getting old fast, and it was only the second full week of school. He simply couldn't understand how Merry and Pippin had so much energy and how Sam managed to stay focused in Bio as they discussed plants for an hour and a half.

Another high school mystery was how Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas were able to not only pass all of their classes, maintain a healthy social life, and take part in a school activity, but also run a resistance against a totally psychotic principal without thinking twice. Heck, Frodo's workload was probably ten times less than any of theirs, but he still struggled with it, especially math. Which is why, after a long rant during one of the resistance's lunch sessions, Boromir had agreed to tutor him.

Boromir fanned himself with a discarded piece of paper, watching over Frodo, surprisingly patient and helpful. Frodo stole a glance up at the older boy as he tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his chin.

"You see? The triangle isn't an equilateral, so you can't use that formula there. You have to use the one for isosceles triangles," Boromir pointed a long finger at the formula written in the textbook.

"Oh. How can you tell that it isn't equilateral?"

"Because a triangle has to equal 180, so if Side A is 70 and Side C is 40, then Side B must be 70 too," he explained, taking a long sip from his Coke afterwards and looking up at the blazing sun. "Geez, we should've sat inside with the others. It's too hot out here."

Frodo laughed and shook his head as he wrote, "Nah. Merry and Pippin would never let us work."

"True," the soccer player chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the infamous pair running towards them from inside the school. "But it doesn't look like they'll let us work out here either."

The dynamic duo of terror pushed open the glass door with a mighty heavy, slamming it against the brick wall of the courtyard. Merry cringed as it swung back, but released a sigh of relief upon seeing that it wasn't cracked.

"Boromir!" Pippin cried, hurrying over to the table where they sat.

"Well, hi to you too, Pip," Frodo rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Hi, Frodo," Merry offered, but he too turned his attention to the junior. "Do you have the list of things we're giving to Gandalf?"

"Yeah, I think it's in my bag," Boromir gestured to the abyss of junk he called his backpack.

"Oh, great. It'll be so easy to find in there," Pippin's sarcasm was evident, but he still smiled at the older boy.

Boromir sighed and turned to Frodo, "You wanna go to Gandalf's office? We can pick this up later."

"Anything to get out of Geometry," Frodo agreed, shoving his book and papers into his backpack faster than was humanly possible and rising from his seat, slinging the heavy bag across his shoulders.

Boromir did the same, rising to his full height towering above the freshmen and not at all fazed by the weight of his overflowing backpack. Together they set off to the guidance counselor's office, hoping for the best and laughing as they went.

* * *

The rest of the resistance, minus Gimli, who had wrestling practice, was already in Gandalf's office when Boromir, Frodo, and the dynamic duo arrived. Gandalf sat behind his desk and leaned forward as they entered. Everyone else greeted them nonchalantly like true friends.

"I assume you're here with ideas," Gandalf cocked his head to the side. "I'm ready to see them, Illuvatar help me!"

Boromir dug around for a second in his backpack before contracting a crumpled piece of paper with a few ideas neatly scripted in Legolas' handwriting. Gandalf balanced a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on his hawk nose and read the list with interest, his eyebrows occasionally raising in amusement as he read. The resistance held a collective breath as he leaned forward once more to speak to them.

"Well, I know I can get them to agree with the homecoming theme. There has to be a dance, they can't take that away," Gandalf began. "I assume I can get them to agree to a Fine Arts bake sale as well. There's no reason why they would say no there. Now, the Quidditch team is definitely a no. If there's no student government, there's certainly not going to be a Qudditch team."

Aragorn and Boromir shared a bitter laugh, while Merry and Pippin kicked the ground in dismay.

"Darn. I would've been awesome at Qudditch," Pippin sulked.

"I still wish we had an archery team, but I know that's not going to happen either," Legolas sympathized, patting the freshman's shoulder gently.

Gandalf smiled a bit, his beard bristling as he did so, "You all have some pretty decent ideas here. I'm proud of you. I should be able to get these to Sauron at the meeting this afternoon and get back to you all tomorrow."

"All right Mr. Gandalf!" Merry cheered.

"We can't thank you enough, sir," Aragorn smiled respectfully at the elder counselor.

"It's my pleasure," Gandalf returned the smile gently. "Now, go on, you ought to have lives outside of fighting against the principal."

Laughter rang out from the kids crowded around his desk and a chorus of goodbyes sounded from them as the pushed their way out the tiny door and back into the hallway. Gandalf took another look at the list as he waved goodbye and sighed. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into, but he couldn't bring himself to be worried. Those kids were grateful for his help, and he was grateful for their strong sense of hope. In a strange way, they both needed each other. And Gandalf was glad.

* * *

Later that night, when the school was lit solely by the interior lights and the soccer field that Aragorn knew so well during the day seemed imposing and haunted at night, Aragorn and his father returned to the school. After soccer practice, Aragorn had returned home to meet his father and a message from Principal Sauron that all students and parents must attend a meeting concerning "upcoming events" at the school.

Needless to say, Aragorn was nervous. His father looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled the truck into a space and put it in park.

"Are you all right, son?" he asked, turning to face him and searching his son's face with his grey eyes. "You've been quiet all night."

"I'm fine, Dad," Aragorn assured him, unbuckling himself and letting the seatbelt snap back. "I just wish I was sleeping rather than coming back to school before I need to."

A smile formed under Mr. Elessar's thick brown beard, "If you say so. Now, come on, this sooner this ends, the sooner we can go home and sleep."

The pair exited the car and joined the mass of people flowing from the parking lot to the school. Students grumbled to their parents about Sauron and their hatred for meetings of any kind, parents laughed amongst themselves and assured their children it would be fine, and friends crowded in groups as if it was a regular day at school by the doors before hurrying inside to find seats. Aragorn looked around for Legolas. Certainly he and his stern, proud-looking father would be here already. He saw Frodo and his uncle/legal guardian Mr. Baggins at the doors, striding along with the crowd inside to the auditorium.

"We better go inside if we want seats," Mr. Elessar advised his son.

Aragorn nodded and they made for the doors, eventually getting inside to the auditorium and snagging seats in the middle. Aragorn caught a glimpse of Boromir and his father, Mayor Denethor Whitetree, near the front of the auditorium. Boromir was standing and gazing around for his friends. Upon seeing Aragorn he waved and sent a shrug as if to say "why the hell are we here?!" Aragorn sent a wave and a shake of his head to answer. Boromir was about to signal again when Saruman, clad in yet another white suit and tie, stepped up to the microphone.

"Take your seats, everyone." His voice was just as melodious as when Aragorn first heard it and surprisingly, everyone obeyed quickly and were listening without a peep. "For those of you who don't know me, I am Vice Principal Saruman. Principal Sauron and I have called this meeting because a rather pressing matter has come to our attention. I will leave it to the Principal himself to address this."

He stepped aside and with a sweep of his long arm, Sauron came to the podium, wearing a midnight black suit and a sickeningly sweet smile on his blood-red lips.

"Good evening everyone. I am Principal Sauron, leader of Arnor High School and its students," he paused, probably expecting applause or a reaction of any kind. Instead, somebody just coughed.

Scowling a bit, he continued, "Recently, I have received a suggestion that I assume is from the students concerning the homecoming dance. And I have to say, I was quite shocked when I received this. I believe these students to be some of the best in the state, no, the _world_ and I would hope that they would be smarter than this.

"You see, homecoming dances can be very dangerous with regards to a student's well-being. It takes time away from their studies, both at the dance itself and during school while they plan for it. It forces the school to spend money on wasteful things when it could be spent on educational materials. And we can't possibly overlook the misdeeds that happen at these dances every year. Drugs and alcohol are smuggled into many a homecoming dance and an after party filled with these dangers is sure to follow. For the well-being of these students, your children, and the reputation of this school, I, Prinicpal Sauron, the sole leader of this school, have decided to cancel this year's homecoming dance."

With one sentence, the entire auditorium erupted into chaos. Kids leaped up onto the chairs and shouted at the Principal, parents leaned over to each other and considered his words. Down at the front, Boromir stood and waved his fist at the principal, shouting something Aragorn couldn't hear.

"YOU'LL NEVER BE PRINCIPAL! LONG LIVE ISILDUR!" Gimli's strong, gravelly voice roared over the crowd.

And that was when it blew up. A cry rose from nearly every student present, "LONG LIVE ISILDUR! LONG LIVE ISILDUR!"

Sauron raised a hand and with his stern, unflappable glare silenced the crowd, "I will not be spoken to in this manner. I am in charge here and I make these decisions based on what I think is best for the school. My decision is final."

He stepped away from the microphone and strode proudly off of the stage. For a moment, everyone was silent, murmuring amongst themselves, before slowly, one by one, the parents started clapping, rising from their seats and reverently cheering for the Principal.

Aragorn turned to his father, shocked, "Dad! Why are you clapping?"

Mr. Elessar turned to his son, sadness in his grey eyes, "You're a good kid, Aragorn. You've got a lot going for you. You can get into a great college, and I just don't want to see you mess this up at some dance."

"But I've been to plenty of dances before this!"

"Principal Sauron has a point. He only wants the best for you all," his father explained.

Aragorn just shook his head solemnly and stormed off, pushing through the tiny aisles and eventually getting outside. The air was chilled and the sky was a pure pitch black. Whipping out his phone, he sent a text to the others in the resistance before hunching his shoulders, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and walking down the parking lot to the street, away from the school and the adults he thought he knew.

**Eh, I'm not a huge fan of this chapter, but I Pinkie Promise next time's update will be awesome. Just as soon as I figure out what I want to happen. Yeah, my writing planning is a mess. So until the update, please answer me this: Who's your favorite LOTR character and why? **


	6. Chapter 6

**Now, I know last chapter wasn't the best thing ever, and I'll be the first to admit it. Hopefully, this one will be better. I appreciate all of the reviews/criticism/suggestions. I'll take anything :) This chapter also comes with musical accompaniment: "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World.  
**

"**Disclaimer" A Haiku by RPN **

**Characters aren't mine.**

**Lord Boromir is so fine. **

**Now it's story time.**

"I can't believe your uncle was actually okay with this idea," Aragorn grinned down at Frodo, repeating the same line for the tenth time since they'd all arrived at Bag End.

Frodo simply shrugged, "My uncle loves dramatics, so he was pretty cool with the idea of a secret homecoming dance at his house. He's been waiting for an excuse to throw a party anyway."

The whole of the resistance was sitting around Frodo's massive dining table, enjoying slices of fresh-baked apple pie and waiting for Mr. Baggins to return home. Ever since the incident at Sauron's meeting the night before, the resistance had immediately gotten together and began to devise a new plan for homecoming. The solution came in the form of Mr. Bilbo Baggins, Frodo's eccentric uncle who loved parties and was always willing to offer his help to whomever required it. Now all they needed was his approval, to spread the word around school, and a few hundred dollars for food and decorations.

The front door banged open and Bilbo himself strutted into the kitchen, toting grocery bags and a warm, wise smile. He was a small sliver of a man, with snow white hair that seemed to glow in the light and the wrinkles of wisdom on his brow. Despite his old age, his eyes were young and full of laughter and mischief. He bore a near-permanent, kind smile and offered it and words of wisdom to anyone who would listen to his babble.

"Hello, all!" he called as he set the groceries down on the counter and crossed the kitchen to cut himself a slice of pie. "What are we discussing?"

"Our homecoming dance, sir," Legolas answered, wiping his mouth gently with a napkin.

"Ah yes," his eyes lit up with remembrance. "Frodo told me about that last night. I'm more than happy to offer the Party Tree at the front of my estate to you all."

"Are you sure, sir?" Aragorn asked uncomfortably. "There's going to be hundreds of high school kids running around on your property and we wouldn't want to impose."

Gimli, Boromir, and Merry glared at him, certain that now Bilbo would change his mind, but the elder man simply chuckled lightly and came to sit with them.

"No, I assure you it's fine. I'm always welcoming to a party and it's been a little while since I was able to plan and host one. And since you all have the planning covered, I'm happy to host while you enjoy yourselves."

Boromir and Legolas exchanged matching grins, Merry and Pippin high fived, Gimli roared a triumphant laugh, Frodo smiled appreciatively his uncle, and Aragorn settled for slinging his arm around Sam and laughing together with excitement.

"I can't thank you enough, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo's eyes shone with admiration and gratitude.

"I'm happy to help," Bilbo leaned back in his chair satisfactorily. "Just let me know when you'll be decorating and when this dance will be and you have yourselves a secret homecoming."

And just like that, step one of the resistance's first underground operation was complete.

* * *

Gimli rolled the shopping cart back and forth aimlessly, staring at the annoyingly squeaky wheel with distaste and wondering how on earth he could fix it, since he guessed that they would be here for another hour as the tree-hugger agonized over their final decision of the day.

At lunch earlier today in Mr. Gandalf's office, Aragorn and Gandalf assigned everyone jobs for homecoming preparation. The homecoming football game was a week from Friday and they had decided to waste no time in getting Bag End and the Party Tree ready in time for next Saturday. Sam, Merry, and Pippin were currently on food duty, most likely shopping for snacks and drinks as Gimli stood here doing nothing and feeling miserable. Boromir, Aragorn, and Frodo were in charge of spreading the word around school and on Facebook without being caught. And Legolas and Gimli? The two of them were required to work together to pick out decorations for the Party Tree, everything from balloons and streamers to twinkling Christmas lights that (in Legolas' opinion) would look beautiful hanging from the tree's branches at night.

Legolas had only said two sentences to him since they had arrived at Minas Tirith's only Party City, "What are our school's colors?" and "Do you have the money?"

Since then, he had selected the ugliest forest green balloons Party City had to offer, rejected Gimli's idea of a balloon arch, and complained about the store's lack of streamers. Gimli had to agree with Legolas on one thing: Arnor High's colors were literally the worst school colors in existence. Forest green and silver weren't really high on his list of wonderful colors and the football players sure looked ridiculous running around in chrome-colored jerseys with their names and numbers written in the deep green of the woods.

But, to Gimli's surprise, they were checking out now, their cart filled with streamers, balloons, a fog machine, twelve feet of Christmas lights, and a few strobe lights. Or, at least, they _would_ be checking out if their cashier would respond to them.

"Uh, hello?" Legolas snapped his fingers in front of the cashier's lazy-eyed, bloodshot vision.

"Oh, heh-heh, hey man, what'ya need?" the cashier chuckled, his words slow and slurred.

"We're checking out," Gimli replied, unloading the cart as fast as he could before Legolas had second thoughts over his strobe lights.

"All right, man," the cashier fumbled to pick up the box of balloons Gimli had set on the tiny cash register table.

Legolas flashed his green eyes in Gimli's direction, his lips quirking into a smirk. Together, they watched the cashier finally pick up the box and scan it. As he placed the box on the conveyer belt, his eyes followed the moving belt, mystified by its mysterious power to move on its own.

Gimli laughed a bit to himself, hiding it with a cough and glancing over at Legolas again. The senior mouthed something to him with a smile, "He is so stoned!"

Fifteen agonizing, laughter-hiding minutes later, the pair was out in the parking lot, laughing hysterically between themselves, clapping each other on the back and loading the trunk of Legolas' hybrid together.

"How would his boss not notice that? It was so obvious!" Gimli roared, loading the last bag into the trunk and closing the door with a bang.

"I know right! The best part was when he had to give us the receipt and he kept missing," Legolas chuckled, climbing into the driver's seat.

Gimli followed suit and buckled himself into the passenger's seat. As the two drove off, their conversation was suddenly easy and amicable, no longer filled with petty insults and stupid fights, but with genuine smiles and the good-natured, simple flow of friendship.

* * *

Aragorn was always one of the first students at school. Often in the mornings, he roamed the halls alone, going to his locker and watching the sun rise and send shadows dancing along the hallways. This morning, though, he wasn't alone. He was with Boromir, slipping notes into their teammates' lockers, detailing the secret homecoming and asking to spread the word discreetly to their friends.

Boromir had come up with the idea, saying that it was like _Pay It Forward. _You tell one person, they tell three, the three tell six each, and so on. That way, they wouldn't have to do all the spreading around on their own. The junior had also created a secret Facebook event for it, inviting everyone from school he had on his friends list and making sure that no one who would be a threat to the dance was invited to the group.

"So did you see Legolas and Gimli together in the library?" Boromir asked, shoving a slip of paper into Eomer's locker.

"No. Why? Where they fighting again?" Aragorn wondered with a roll of his eyes.

The other boy laughed, "Surprisingly no. They looked like they were having fun. I think they were studying or something."

"Wow. Those two are friends now? Geez, when did that happen?"

Boromir laughed again and shrugged his broad shoulders, "Who knows? But I'm not gonna say anything. Is that everyone from the soccer team?"

"Yup. Now I guess it's on them to spread it around."

Boromir had a lot of faith in the players and he smiled broadly at the thought of their secret homecoming. "We're gonna be heroes for this, ya know?"

Now it was Aragorn's turn to shrug, "I never thought about it that way. But I guess you're right. We'll always be those kids who saved homecoming."

"Maybe we'll go in the yearbook," Boromir tilted his head to the side in thought.

"Except we're a secret group," he reminded him with a teasing laugh.

Boromir was about to reply when Pippin's loud, happy cry of "Hey guys!" rang out in the empty hallway. They turned to see Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo hurrying towards them, each looking triumphant and excited.

"What's up guys?" Aragorn asked.

"I told all the freshmen in the band about the dance and they all promised to pass it on," Frodo informed him proudly. He was a proud member of Arnor High's band, playing the clarinet quite well.

"And we finished buying all the snacks and stuff last night," Merry added happily.

"Great, guys!" Boromir praised, earning an embarrassed smile from each of the freshmen. Although they would never admit it, they all looked up to Boromir greatly. "Now all we have to do is decorate after the game on Friday and we'll be ready!"

"And we oughta ask around a bit just to make sure everyone's getting the message," Aragorn mused. After a pause he added, "And getting a date."

"Oh yeah! Better call Arwen, Strider!" Pippin laughed, making a kissy face at the blushing Ranger.

Sam simply rolled his eyes and sighed, "Can we head down to the cafeteria? Gimli wanted us to meet him and Legolas there and I'm starving."

There was a chorus of agreement from the others and they set off down the empty hall to the cafeteria.

"I can't believe you like their food, Sam," Merry scoffed. "I think it's horrible."

"It's not so bad if you know what to order," Boromir advised. "I'd stick with a box of Lucky Charms if I were you, instead of getting their fake eggs or something."

Aragorn hung back a moment, pulling out his cell phone from his sweatshirt pocket and typing a quick text to Arwen.

_Homecoming on Saturday…wanna come? Miss you _

Frodo looked over his shoulder as he walked, his brow furrowing in confusion when he saw Aragorn smiling idiotically down at his phone.

"Strider? Are you coming?"

"Oh…uh, yeah," came the reply as he shoved his phone back in his pocket and hurried after them.

As he walked down the hall with his friends, laughing at Merry's insistence that the food was awful, Frodo and Sam's in-depth argument over Rosie, and Boromir and Sam's dislike of eggs sunny-side-up, Aragorn felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling out and sneaking a look at it discreetly, he felt his face break into a broad, unstoppable grin and his heart flutter with love.

_Of course, Estel xoxo I miss you too :) _

**Woo! Aragorn/Arwen and Sam/Rosie! And homecoming game next chapter! Also, last chapter I got over 10 reviews for one chapter! Thanks guys! Anyway, here's my question of the chapter: If Aragorn was in any Olympic sport what would it be? I'd say fencing, but that's just me. He's pretty handy with that sword… Oh, and if you liked the musical accompaniment and want more, let me know!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Writing this chapter made me nostalgic for homecoming, football games at school, and just fall in general. But then I realized: fall means school and school means no sleep, so then I felt a little better about it not being fall yet. My junior year starts in 2 weeks and although I'm happy to not feel like a sweaty gross hot monster every day, I don't want school to start. These are the problems of my life.**

**Anyway, I don't own LOTR, Ugg boots, North Face jackets, Snickers, or Starbucks.**

The Friday of the homecoming game arrived quicker than Aragorn had ever expected. The week after they had spread the word was a blur. A crazy, gossipy, romance-filled blur. Rumors of the mysterious dance floated through school, Aragorn and his friends pretending that they knew nothing more than anyone else (although when they were in private Boromir was proud and boastful). Secret romances budded, flowers being left in lockers and girls searching for the perfect dress on their smart phones after class let out, certain that it would impress their date. Groups of singles planned dinners before the dance and called dibs on back-up homecoming dates jokingly. And when Sauron or Saruman passed, everyone was smart enough to quickly change the subject, leaving no trace of their dance behind.

After parking his car across the street at Starbucks, Aragorn hurried back over to the stadium, keeping a keen eye peeled for any of his friends. Crowds of kids pushed their way up to the front gates, digging out cash for their tickets and dodging cheerleaders armed with face paints. It was a chilly night, but not cold enough for the girls to don their North Faces and Ugg boots or the hipsters to dig out their toboggan hats. Instead, everyone donned Arnor High sweatshirts and jeans, pulling their hoods up over their chilly ears and shoving their hands into the oversized pockets.

"Hey, man!" Aragorn turned to see Legolas and Gimli standing behind the chain link fence together.

"Hey, guys. Let me just pay for my ticket and I'll meet you inside. Is anyone else here?" he asked, a bit put off by their new friendship.

"Frodo's with the band and Sam's working the concession stand, but Merry and Pippin are saving our seats," Legolas answered after taking a long sip of his soda.

Aragorn fished out a five dollar bill and turned it in for a ticket. After the lady tore off the stub and gave it to him, he hurried around to where the pair was standing and waiting inside the stadium.

"Have you seen Boromir yet?" Gimli asked as they walked, munching on his popcorn as he spoke.

"Not yet. He told me he was picking someone up so he was gonna be late," Aragorn answered.

They wove their way through the groups of people scattered in the thin path between the bleachers and the fence. Freshmen stood off to the side precariously and parents randomly stopped in the middle of the walk to chat, much to the annoyance of the jostling students. After what seemed like an eternity of pushing and being pushed, stopping erratically and sprinting past stopped groups, the three finally arrived at the student section, where Merry and Pippin were saving plenty of room for the resistance.

"Hey you guys!" Pippin called, immediately diving into the popcorn Gimli brought. Merry rose to his feet too, jumping up to the empty bleacher above them that they had been saving.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The signature booming voice of Mr. Theoden, a history teacher and the school's football announcer echoed off of the stadium walls. "Welcome to Arnor High School's homecoming game!"

The stadium erupted into cheers, banging cowbells and waving forest green towels in answer to Theoden.

"Tonight, our very own Arnor Rangers face…" he trailed off for a moment, and through the glass of the press box Aragorn could vaguely make out the discomfort and confusion on his face. "…the Isengard High Crebain!"

Everyone on the Arnor side of the stadium howled with rage and shook their towels angrily in Isengard's direction. Aragorn squinted in the din of the stadium lights and was surprised to see Saruman behind Theoden, whispering with his golden voice into his ear.

"Hey, Legolas, look at that," he pointed towards the press box and turned his friend around to see.

But as he and Legolas turned around again to observe the press box, a familiar blonde caught his eye. But it wasn't the blonde's presence that confused him, it was the chestnut-haired girl behind him, wearing a warm smile and hurrying towards him with open arms.

"Arwen?" he breathed, causing his friends to turn around in wonder to lay eyes on Aragorn's elusive girlfriend.

He rushed towards her, pushing through the bleachers to grab her from the crowd in the aisle, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down for a deep, long kiss. His friends snickered and whistled behind them, but he didn't care. When they finally broke apart, Aragorn tenderly brushed a strand of hair out of her face and turned to Boromir, still keeping one arm wrapped around Arwen's waist.

"What?" The blonde shrugged. "You're always talking about her, so I figured I'd pick her up so you could see her. What are friends for?"

"Yeah. What are friends for," he repeated, smiling as he said it.

The three clambered up the bleachers to where the other were waiting and turned their attention to the kickoff. Elladan was currently charging for the ball, ramming full speed towards it and slamming his foot into it, sending it flying through the darkened sky and towards the Crebain's quarterback.

"So, how are things at Imladris?" Legolas asked Arwen.

She shrugged indifferently, "Not bad, I guess. I'm always missing you guys, though, despite all my friends there."

"Well, we miss you too, Arwen!" Pippin assured her, earning a surprised look from her.

"Oh, uh, that's Pippin. He's a little…" Aragorn trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Fun? Amazing? Sexy? Hilarious?" Pippin filled in, grinning cheekily at the couple.

"Right," Merry rolled his eyes and snatched some more popcorn from the bucket. He turned to Arwen, "I'm Merry, by the way and I may as well apologize in advance for Pippin."

Pippin promptly tackled the other freshmen and Arwen laughed, "How come I've never met them before, Estel?"

"I've only met them this year," Aragorn explained. "It's been interesting. I'll catch you up on our resistance stuff later."

Arwen cocked an eyebrow at him in confusion, "What resist—"

The stadium erupted into cheers as Elrohir crossed into the touchdown zone, spiking the ball onto the ground and raising his arms in victory towards the Arnor bleachers.

"YES!" Boromir cheered, high-fiving Merry and Pippin, his grin broad and proud.

"Touchdown for the Arnor side!" Theoden recapped, his voice slightly duller than before. "That brings the score to six, zero, Rangers!"

"Theoden sounds different," Arwen observed.

"That's what I thought too," Aragorn answered. "I wonder what it is."

"Maybe he's just not feeling himself," Legolas mused.

"Yeah, that's probably it," Gimli agreed. "Now can we just enjoy the game without thinking every little thing is a plot by Sauron or Saruman?"

After laughing at the wrestler's perpetual grumpiness, Aragorn had to admit that he was right. For now, they were winning the battle against the administration. Homecoming was tomorrow night and all was right in his world. Now was the time to celebrate and relax, because for now their job was done.

* * *

"And that wraps up the second quarter, with the score at 32-26 Crebain!" Theoden announced. From where Aragorn stood in the concession line, he could see Theoden's bored, disconnected expression. Although Saruman was gone, the greasy-haired man from the main office that first day was there now.

"Damn. Can't believe we're losing," Gimli muttered, kicking at an empty, trampled cup defeatedly.

"I can," Boromir rolled his eyes. "Elladan and Elrohir are awful."

"They've scored like three times this game," Legolas argued. "And you cheered for them when they first scored."

Boromir opened his mouth to argue again, but was cut off when Frodo hurried over, grinning broadly, but looking tired and sweaty in his marching band uniform. It was a rather awkward forest green jacket, lined with silver on the cuffs and shoulder pads.

"Frodo? What are you doing here?" Aragorn asked incredulously.

"It's the band's third quarter break," Frodo explained, his eyes wandering to where Aragorn had his arm wrapped around Arwen. They widened upon realization and then his features formed into a smile. "So I'm guessing you're Arwen? Unless you're that other girl Eowyn?"

Arwen's smile fell and she turned to Aragorn with mock anger (or at least he hoped it was mock). "Who's Eowyn?"

Aragorn shot Frodo a glare of pure, unbridled anger, "She's just some sophomore with a crush on me. Her brother, Eomer, you know him, plays soccer with me."

"And me!" Boromir put in, earning him another stone-cold Aragorn glare. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Trust him, Arwen, there's no Eowyn."

"Well, there is, but he's just not dating her," Gimli finished.

"Okay, thanks, you guys!" Aragorn said hastily, rubbing his temple with one hand.

"Having problems, Strider?" Sam asked as they stepped up to the counter.

"The usual," he answered, but he smiled as he spoke. "Can I have, uh, two sodas, some M'n'Ms, a Snickers, more popcorn for Merry and Pippin, and…Sam are you even listening?"

"What? Oh, uh, yeah, I'll get those nachos for you," Sam went about working.

Frodo laughed, "He was looking at Rosie over there."

The group collectively turned and Frodo pointed out which girl was Rosie, a short, jovial-looking girl with bouncy curls and bright eyes, laughing amongst her friends and looking like she was enjoying every second of her life.

"Don't all look at once," Sam blushed as he filled up two tall cups of soda.

"Oh, right," Legolas muttered and they all turned around again.

"Have you asked her to you-know-what yet?" Gimli asked, leaning against the counter lazily.

Sam blushed all the way to the tips of his ears and looked down at the bucket of grossly yellow popcorn, "I wasn't planning on it. I mean, look at her! She's so beautiful and fun and free…and I'm a concession stand worker who spends his free time plotting against our administration."

"Aw, come on, Sam," Aragorn encouraged, fishing around his pocket for his wallet and extracting a few ones from its soft, old leather. "She'd be lucky to have you. You're a great guy and I bet if you asked her she'd go with you. Anyone have any cash?"

He flattened out four ones and laid them on the counter, digging around his other pocket for spare change.

"Yeah, Sam, it's good for the guy to make the first move. What if she wants you to ask her out badly, but she's too afraid to do anything about it?" Arwen explained, tossing two dollars and a pile of change onto the counter. "How much do we owe?"

"Three more," Sam answered. He sighed, "I just don't wanna do it yet. Maybe next time."

"What if there is no next time, huh?" Boromir asked gruffly. After seeing the freshmen recoil, he softened, "I mean, what if she thinks you don't like her after all and she moves on and finds another guy? Then you would've missed your chance." He laid down the three final dollars and picked up the bucket of popcorn, looping one arm around it and holding it close to his chest. "Just think about it, okay? And maybe you can dance with her tomorrow night."

Frodo grabbed his bag of M'n'M's and smiled gently at his friend, "You're a great guy, Sam. I bet she's fallen head over heels for you."

Sam smiled back and Frodo was about to continue, but after a glance at the growing, impatient line behind him, he settled to wave goodbye and promise that they could talk more later.

"I oughta get back to the band corner," Frodo sighed, throwing a few M'n'M's in his mouth and waving goodbye to the group.

The other melted back into the constant stream of people heading back towards the student section. They cheered as they walked, Boromir hopping up onto the bleachers to see what had happened and reporting back to them. Eventually, they made it to Merry and Pippin and settled back down in their seats again.

"Hey, where's my M'n'Ms?" Pippin asked, his eyes darting around in search.

"Oh, uh, Frodo took those by accident," Legolas explained sheepishly.

"Darn. Can I have the Snickers?"

"No, that's mine," Arwen plucked the brown-wrapped candy bar from Boromir's hand and opened it.

"Oh well. We're winning now, by the way," Pippin informed them.

"Yes! See, Elladan and Elrohir aren't bad!" Legolas cried smugly.

Boromir just shook his head and crossed his arms stubbornly. Despite Aragorn and Arwen's efforts, another fight did break out, followed by another, but Legolas was right. Elladan and Elrohir won their homecoming game and as the crowd filtered out of the stadium, each student cheering and whooping and full of ecstasy and excitement for the dance, Aragorn smiled at the group around him.

"Well, next time we see each other," Boromir said, crossing the parking lot towards his silver car. "We'll be dancing."

"Yup," Sam agreed, texting away on his phone to get a ride home. "At Frodo's place."

They all said goodbyes and departed, each going to their car or their ride, or beginning the walk home in the dark. Aragorn crossed the busy street, keeping his fingers firmly intertwined with Arwen's as they rushed across the road to the empty Starbucks lot.

"Well, I better go," he said, leaning against his car disappointedly. "Can I give you a ride?"

"You know you can't, unless you want my dad to find out about us," Arwen smiled, reclining next to him on the door of the car.

"All right, see you tomorrow?"

Arwen nodded and moved to walk over to her friend's waiting car, but Aragorn stopped her, pressing his lips against hers and pushing her back against the car door, kissing her passionately and desperately under the stars, unable to contain his love and excitement for tomorrow.

**MOAR ARAGORN/ARWEN! God, I love that pairing. Tell me, followers, what's your favorite LOTR pairing? Mine's Aragorn/Arwen, followed closely by Eowyn/Faramir and Sam/Rosie. And, I'm guilty of liking one slash pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel *hides under rock and writes a hopefully amazing update to make amends for liking a blameful pairing* **


	8. Chapter 8

**Well. School started. And so did football games. I'm tired, but it's Labor Day weekend so updates away! Also, I finally got myself a job bagging groceries at Harris Teeter! YEAH. GROCERY STORE SWAG.**

**Musical Suggestion: If I mention a song, feel free to look it up and listen. It'll almost be like you're at the dance! **

**Disclaimer: I just said I work for minimum wage. Bagging groceries. I'm not LOTR-owning material…yet :D**

They had done good, Boromir mused as he leaned against the wide, old trunk of the Party Tree. From the Tree's sprawling branches hung dazzling Christmas lights, zigzagging between the branches and dangling down to give the illusion of stars. Gimli and Legolas had set up a stage at the front of the yard where the DJ was playing "Boston" by Augustana and the strobe lights were flashing. At the back sat the snack table, where Sam and Frodo were happily chowing down and a balloon arch, where a constant stream of kids was flowing into the dance (after paying their entry fee of five dollars to Bilbo and Mr. Gandalf, of course). And in the middle was the dance itself, couples holding onto each other and swaying to the melancholy, pensive beat of "Boston". Singles stood off to the side, some with their friends and who couldn't care less about having a date, and some looking desperate enough to dance with Bill Ferny, the school's resident jerk.

Boromir was one of these singles, but despite the freshmen girls he had spotted ogling at him from across the field, he didn't really want a dance. He was content to lean against the tree with Legolas and listen to the blonde sing along in his soft, melodic voice to the song. It was just the two of them over by the tree and Boromir didn't mind. He didn't know Legolas all that well, but he did appreciate him, and his singing made him feel so relaxed. In reality, he felt so out of place in his light blue shirt and metallic silver tie. He did have a black jacket on, too, but he had shed that with the others when they had gotten here to set up.

It was still a secret to everyone that it was their idea and their dance. All they knew was that someone at school had planned it, and whoever it was, Mr. Gandalf had their back. Boromir was finding it extremely hard to keep his mouth shut, especially when the obnoxious football players hustled by, praising the mysterious dance planner. He was so close to raining on their parade and shouting "This is my dance!" right in their faces, but Aragorn and Gimli each took one of his arms and pulled him back.

Speaking of Aragorn, it had been a while since he had seen the Captain. When Arwen had arrived with her friend Glorfindel a few hours ago, Aragorn took off from where the group had been dancing together and went off with Arwen. Their group had slowly disintegrated once the first slow song started playing. Merry and Pippin went off to snack table with Sam and Frodo, but Pippin was snagged by some freshmen named Diamond, leaving Frodo and Merry to try to convince Sam to ask Rosie to dance. It never happened, but from here Boromir could see the desperation on Frodo's face and the longing in Sam's eyes. Even Gimli had gone off with his wrestling buddies, probably trying to coerce any desperate girl into one dance.

But, finally the song ended, and Boromir picked out Aragorn and Arwen in the crowd of couples, the Captain placing a gentle kiss on his date's lips before separating and cheering when the first, repetitive drum beat began throbbing from the speakers.

"We're gonna get funky, funky, funky," came the familiar, laughing voice from the speakers.

"The Cha Cha Slide! Yes!" Pippin was by him in an instant, taking both his and Legolas' hand in his own littler one and dragging them onto the floor, where the rest of the resistance was waiting, even Gimli.

"Everybody clap your hands!"

Boromir laughed a bit to himself as he clapped, watching the freshmen get ridiculously into the dance, their little, brightly colored ties flapping as the bobbed with excitement. He was just as surprised to turn to his right and see Aragorn and Arwen cha-chaing away like there was no tomorrow, laughing as they hopped, Arwen's dress billowing and Aragorn's tie and un-tucked shirt flopping in the air.

"Reverse, reverse!"

Boromir and the others all spun around in the air, laughing as they did so and catching each other on the shoulders to regain balance. As DJ Casper continued to rap out orders, the junior was reminded of just how long this dance was. And tiring. For someone of his good health and fitness, he was breathing heavily every time he had to hop multiple times.

Luckily for him, the freshmen were too busy falling all over each other, Legolas and Gimli were too busy bantering about the correct way to "cha cha real smooth", and Aragorn and Arwen were staring into each other's eyes even as they danced. When the dance finally ended, his breath was ragged and he wiped sweat off of his brow, pushing his blonde hair off of his forehead.

"I love that dance!" Pippin informed them energetically.

"We figured," Gimli rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

Boromir laughed, but his lungs were still on fire from his hardcore dancing.

"You look tired," Aragorn observed. "Let's all go get drinks."

Murmurs of approval flowed from the group and they crossed the grassy field to the punch bowl, taking turns dipping the ladle into the bowl and pouring the bright red drink into Bilbo's dainty glasses. The dance's atmosphere had once against shifted to a sad, slow song that Boromir recognized as "White Horse." How he knew that was beyond him, considering he had no Taylor Swift-loving friends and had never had a steady girlfriend.

Couples were grabbing each other once again, but Aragorn and Arwen stayed leaning against Bag End's tired old fence with them, sipping their punch but inching close enough that Arwen had laid her head against Aragorn's chest. But everyone else was not happy.

"We paid this DJ to play dance songs! Not this!" Gimli grumbled, crossing his beefy arms over his chest and glowering at the lanky man who served as the dance's DJ.

"I agree," Legolas nodded diplomatically. "Our playlist didn't have half of these songs on it. What happened?"

"Maybe he's accepting requests. We told him he was allowed to, right?" Aragorn pointed out.

"Yeah, but no DJ would play this many slow songs 'cause of _requests_," Boromir added.

They lapsed into silence again, Gimli occasionally muttering about the lack of good rock songs and the freshmen laughing amongst themselves. Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had been extremely quiet while the others had been bashing the DJ, and Sam had just looked annoyed. Boromir thought back to when they had finished making the playlist. The freshmen had been in charge of giving it to the DJ, whom Merry knew well. And they had wanted as many slow songs as possible to give Sam a better chance with Rosie. Wait a second…

"Aha! You three switched out our playlist!" Boromir cried, his punch sloshing over the rim of his cup as he leaped in front of the laughing trio.

Merry and Pippin exchanged a glance and immediately started denying the junior's accusation. But Frodo, his face flushing upon being caught in his little scheme, stepped forward, staring down at the grass and fumbling with his tie.

"You caught us," he muttered repentantly. "I figured the more slow songs, the more chances Sam would have to dance with Rosie. But the dance is half over and he hasn't even said one word to the girl!"

His blue eyes shot upwards as he mock-glared at his friend.

"She doesn't want to dance with me! Get that into your thick heads." Boromir had a feeling this was directed to everyone present.

"Oh, but Sa-aaaam!" Merry whined. "She soooo loves you!"

"Yeah! And come on, bro, it's just a dance! How hard could it be to dance with her?" Pippin piped up, giving his friend what he hoped was an encouraging nudge.

"She doesn't love me!" Sam protested again. "And I haven't seen you dance with anybody this whole time, Pippin!"

"Oh really? Well, maybe I didn't want to!"

Boromir and Aragorn exchanged amused looks. Legolas looked like he wanted to stop the impending fight, but Gimli shushed him and held him back. Even Arwen looked entertained.

"What about that girl from your science class? What's her name? Diamond? You ask to dance with her next slow song and I'll ask Rosie, deal?"

Boromir hadn't known Pippin long, but he knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't back down from a challenge. Pippin had a lot of spunk and confidence, bordering on the arrogance that Boromir occasionally recognized in himself. He caught the flash of anger in the freshman's eyes, just before it morphed into its usual glint of mischief and confidence.

"Deal! It'll be easy!" Pippin's face spread into his cocky, blinding grin, but his eyes flickered about, looking to Merry and Aragorn for help.

"I promise it will be easy," Aragorn assured them both.

"That's why he was so nervous when he asked me out the first time," Arwen teased, reaching up to plant a kiss on Aragorn's scowling face.

"That's different," the senior argued. "You're you."

"Gross, guys, get a room," Gimli grunted, rolling his eyes and staring off at nothing in particular.

"Does our little Gimli have someone special?" Legolas wondered, smiling and wagging a finger at the stocky boy.

"Of course not!" Gimli pushed his friend's finger away. "All I need is me…and you all, I guess."

"I'm with him," Boromir jerked a thumb down at Gimli. "I'd take friends over a girl any day."

Which was true, he mused. He had always preferred the company of the soccer team and his friends in class. Oh, he did serial date from time to time, but those were simple, meaningless dates with simple, meaningless girls who just wanted random dates, too. No one around him was looking for anything serious and neither was he. He had soccer and school and his father and his friends and his brother to look after. He simply had no time or desire for a girlfriend yet. His father told him that would change in time, but Denethor didn't know one thing about dating. He had only ever been with one woman, Boromir's mother, who had died and since then had worked for the city almost obsessively, grooming Boromir for an eventual career in the city's government and disregarding rebellious, messy Faramir entirely. Although he would never admit it to his father, Denethor was the reason why he wouldn't hold a steady girlfriend. He feared heartbreak. He didn't want to turn out like his father.

Breaking from his haze of depressing thoughts, he took the time to notice that Bilbo had showed up and was ladling himself some punch. Aragorn was, as usual, speaking for the group and was being his respectful, wise self. It never ceased to amaze Boromir the wisdom that hid behind the rather ragtag appearance of the older boy.

"I think everyone would like to thank you for letting us have the dance here, sir," Aragorn told him. "You could get up on stage and address everyone soon, if you'd like."

Bilbo's eyes gleamed and his wrinkles spread further as he smiled upon the group. "I've told you, it's my pleasure to have you all here, but if you really think they'd like a speech…" The little old man hurried away, muttering to himself and furrowing his brow, deep in thought.

Frodo sighed good-naturedly, "Now you've done it, Strider. He'll be up on stage for at least ten minutes now."

Bilbo clambered up onto the stage, stopping the DJ from selecting another song and taking the microphone. To Boromir's surprise, everyone silenced and truly looked like they wanted to hear the old man speak. After all, Bilbo was a prominent member of the community. He had gotten rich after going on an archeological dig with twelve of his old college buddies, Mr. Gandalf included, and he was very generous with his money. Generous enough to provide a place for the school dance, which made him very popular amongst Arnor High students at the present.

"My dear people," he began, smiling wisely down at the students. "My dear freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors, and guests. Tonight is your school's homecoming. You have won your football game!"

This rose a great cheer from everyone present and the host's smile grew even further before he continued, "I hope you all are enjoying yourselves as much as I am. I shall not keep you long. I have allowed you to have this dance here for three reasons. Fir—"

To everyone's surprise, somebody had cut Mr. Bilbo Baggins off. The crowd moved together to stare at the offender, a random freckle-faced freshman who had been standing alone by the Tree.

"The Black Riders are coming! They're coming!"

_Oh no. _Boromir's heart pounded in his chest. The Black Riders?! How did they even find out about this! Who would've let this dance slip to Sauron's personal staff, the nine awful security guards who patrolled the school daily and could practically sense when rules were about to be broken.

And the crowd was a _mess_. Some had already scrambled towards the balloon arch and were dashing away to the dirt lot where they had parked or were running down the road. Most were just fidgeting and wondering what to do, turning back to the stage for help from Bilbo, but the old man was gone. Upon investigation, old Mr. Gandalf was gone too. The kids were _on their own_.

The first Rider's car was pulling slowly up the dusty hill toward Bag End and that was enough to make most of the remaining kids head for the hills. Girls pried off their heels, tied back their hair, and gathered their wristlets and purses in one single motion before running off, lacing their arms around their friends or their date and disappearing into the night. Guys tugged off their ties and threw hurriedly put their jackets back on as they jogged away.

"Guys! What do we do? This was our fault!" Pippin hissed as the blinding headlights of one of the black slim Nissans that served as Arnor High's campus security cars.

Aragorn watched the rest of the dance-goers leap the fence and disappear toward the parking lot, stuffing themselves into friends' cars and even letting the carless freshmen and sophomores hide in the trunks as the Black Riders neared even closer.

"We can't stand our ground, we have to go. No one can find out it was us," Boromir pointed out, hoping Aragorn would agree with him.

"He's right," Legolas put in.

With a defeated sigh, Aragorn nodded and they hurried off to Bag End. The front door was shut tight and the lights were off, completely vulnerable and almost submissive to the impending Black Rider takeover. Frodo beckoned them around back and they slipped inside the back door just as the nine cars stopped simultaneously and the guards stepped out, marching toward Bilbo's green door.

Frodo led them to a side window and they peered out into the dark, watching the Riders walk in perfect harmony up to the stoop of Bag End. Boromir marveled at their perfect marching and rhythm. He had a strong respect for the military, his father being a former commander, and he had to admit that the Riders knew what they were doing.

From a further part of the house, Boromir could hear the pounding rapt of the first Rider on the door. And, thankfully, he could hear Bilbo's kind, innocent voice asking who they were and why they were here.

"We work for Arnor High School and we've received reports that a prohibited homecoming dance was being held here. Tonight," voiced the first Rider, his tone haughty and evil.

Bilbo wouldn't back down and Boromir could just picture the old man crossing his arms and furrowing his brow as he spoke. "Well, I'll have you know that there was a party at my house tonight, but it was my birthday party! However, it ended a few hours ago! What business is it of yours that I had guests tonight?"

The first Rider seemed unconvinced, "We noted many students leaving the grounds not ten minutes ago."

Boromir held his breath, but Bilbo didn't falter, "I said _my_ party ended a few hours ago. It's also my nephew, Frodo's birthday. He's a student at your school and he decided to invite friends from school over for his party. It's no concern of yours that teenagers have a tendency to stay out late."

The Rider was armed with a response, but Bilbo continued, "And how dare you march onto my property like that and scare off my nephew's friends? What sort of school are you running where the children are scared of the employees? I'm very influential around here and if you come by Bag End again, I'll have that school shut down! Shut down, I say! Now, off with you, I won't have you disturbing my nephew's fun any longer!"

The other Riders faltered for a moment before muttering quick apologies to Bilbo and trudging off to the cars and pulling away much faster than they had arrived. Frodo hurried through Bag End's winding corridors, the rest of the resistance right at his heels, until he reached the main foyer, lunging at his uncle and hugging him tight.

"That was amazing!" Frodo cried as he pulled back, grinning proudly at his uncle. "You totally saved us!"

Bilbo smiled warmly at all of them, "Well, I wasn't about to give you all up. They don't need to know about this."

"But I bet they'll question everyone on Monday," Boromir said grimly.

"That's right," Mr. Gandalf agreed as he entered the room, his eyes dark and his face solemn. "We'll all have to watch ourselves then. Meet me after school Monday and we can talk then, but for now, hold your ground and act natural. No more resistance plots until this dies down, all right?"

It was a simple thing to agree to, but nobody could shake the ominous, foreboding sense that the Black Riders had brought with them. The dance was over and its guests, tired and shaken, were departing, trying to forget all that had happened as they went home, leaving the resistance alone in Bag End, guiltier than anyone and more afraid for Monday than any of the oblivious guests.

If Sauron found out the truth, none of them were safe. Would they all fall? Their hopes to preserve Arnor High and Isildur's legacy failed? Or would the resistance simply fall apart from the pressure? No one wanted that, and in the back of everyone's minds, they made a promise.

_If I go down alone, I won't take them down with me. _

**Whew. Long chapter here. It took me ages to write 'cause of school, so I apologize in advance if this chapter isn't my best. I have to admit, even I didn't think I would stick the Black Riders in here. I know that wasn't how it worked in the books (duh) but they had to show up sometime, and hey, everything's out of place in this story.**

**Anyway, who's started school? What classes? What grade? Fun or dumb? As for me, I have started my junior year and I'm taking two APs, and while it's cool to see my friends and go to games, I'm tired and stressed after one week. Oh well, writing helps :D Until next time! **


	9. Ring My Bellrog

**Oh, god have you ever screwed up so bad with a friend by doing something dumb and you don't wanna say anything 'cause it might just make things worse by saying something? Yes, well, welcome to my life and, my dear readers, to this chapter. **

_**When we last left our heroes, they had made a dumb mistake by throwing the secret homecoming dance. Now, no one wants to mention it again 'cause no one knows what's gonna happen and they're pretty sure Sauron's on their tails.**_

**Yup. Anyway, I don't own anything blah, blah, blah. **

For the most part, the resistance had been avoiding each other. Homeroom was laced with awkward silence, they avoided each other's gaze in the halls, and even Legolas and Aragorn, the best of friends since 8th grade, had fallen silent and grim. The freshmen were the only ones who stuck together, clinging like lost puppies to one another and hoping for the storm to pass.

Sauron, on the other hand, had completely lost it. If the man wasn't downright evil at first, now he was the Dark Lord of Arnor High. Not only had he ordered the Black Riders to take any measure necessary to catch the mysterious homecoming planners, he had also instituted that at any time, any student could be called for an "interview" in an attempt to discover the identities of the homecoming planners. And, despite all of Aragorn's reassurance that no one knew, the resistance was still cracking slowly from the inside out.

And Legolas didn't know what to do. The entire day, he had walked around in a daze, cringing when a Black Rider barged into one of his classes and selected random students to interrogate. He ate lunch up in the library with Haldir and Rumil, the two sophomores he'd met in the Archery Club the year before. As much as he poured himself into his work, forcing his brain to care about the teacher's words for once and pay attention, and as much as he enjoyed the company of the sophomores, he couldn't shake that nervous, looking over your shoulder feeling. And he couldn't stop thinking about how the others were doing.

It was stupid really, he reflected. They were all friends and they were all there for each other. There was no reason to retreat into a corner and be alone now. They were too far into this mess to give up on each other at this point. How could the others be so ready to end it?

Then it dawned on Legolas. Maybe they weren't. Maybe they were all thinking the same thing and were just waiting for a braver member of their little friend group to step forward. Everything fell into place then and confidence soared within him. After school, he leaned against his locker tiredly, gazing down the hall and looking for the friends he had come to rely on, especially on days like today. They weren't there and he knew they weren't going to come, not until he took action anyway.

Pulling out his beat-up phone, he punched a slow, thoughtful text to the others and sent it, sighing to himself as it took its sweet time finding a signal and send the text to his friends. He had only ever had one phone and he had carried it with him from seventh grade all the way up to his senior year. He knew it was silly to not want to change phones, but in all honesty he despised all change, which was why he was dreading college and leaving and why he hated not having his friends by his side right now.

But, luckily he had already gotten a response and he could head to a certain guidance office with a lighter, happier heart and less worries on his mind.

* * *

They were all gathered in his office, just as he'd instructed them on Saturday. Truthfully, Mr. Gandalf hadn't expected them to show up. He figured they would all be too shell-shocked from the Riders' arrival at the dance to want to continue. But it seemed that after a little convincing from Legolas they were back in business and determined to continue.

"I must say, I'm surprised," Gandalf offered a tender smile. "You all are very brave to come back here. But it's good that you did, because I have a plan."

This sparked a reaction from the kids, Aragorn and Legolas focusing with rapt attention, Boromir and Gimli internally rejoicing at the chance to do something again, and the freshmen exchanged looks of excitement and worry.

"What are you thinking?" Aragorn asked, his eyes glinting with hope.

Gandalf leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice cautiously, "Close the door, Merry."

He did as he was told before the counselor spoke up again, "Sauron's computer runs a program called the Ring. On the Ring, he has saved all of his plans for the school. And by all, I mean all of his plans. His entire source of power is on the Ring. If we can take it from him and destroy it, he will have nothing."

"So? He'd still be in charge, with or without his plans," Gimli challenged.

Gandalf fixated a stern gaze on him, his ice blue eyes flashing disapprovingly, "I don't think you understand. Sauron is obsessed with the Ring. He controls it, but in reality, it controls him. He has stored everything about him on the Ring. If he loses it, he loses hold of reality and will fall."

"Great, so a mentally unstable man is our Principal," Boromir laughed darkly. "How's that supposed to help? Like Gimli said, he'd still be in charge."

"Once he's exposed to be weak and unstable, it will be easy for us to remove him from the school. We'll be able to tip off to the school board that Sauron isn't capable of being principal and our work is done," Gandalf leaned back in his chair satisfactorily and waited for a response.

"All right," Aragorn began, nodding slowly as he considered this. "So all we have to do is get someone to take the Ring, we destroy it, and then we've gotten rid of Sauron for good?"

Gandalf nodded again and Aragorn smiled, "Well. Seems easy enough. Now all we need is for someone to volunteer to get the Ring."

Even Boromir and Gimli shied away from the task, Boromir pretending to be absorbed with one of Gandalf's books and Gimli muttering excuses to himself as he stared at the ground. Legolas just sort of stood there and looked awkward, while Aragorn looked confident, but only because he was certain that someone would volunteer. But as the minutes passed on silently, his hope withered and he shrank back with Legolas and the others.

In every friend group, there is that one friend that will do the impossible, whether it be the impossibly dumb or the impossibly smart. Maybe that one friend is impossibly sweet or impossibly blonde. Sometimes they're impossibly dense or impossibly argumentative. But, in this particular friend group, that one friend defined themselves by being impossibly brave and having the courage no one else in the entire group had. He stepped forward, taking a long breath and squaring his shoulders before saying with no regret or hint of fear.

"I will take the Ring, though I don't know how I will," Frodo proclaimed.

Gandalf leaned forward in his chair, his face a whirlwind of different emotions, from surprised to worried to proud all in a matter of seconds. Finally, he smiled in that wizened, kind way of his and nodded, his beard bobbing as he did so.

"I had figured this would fall to you, Frodo," he said solemnly, earnestly. "I will help you, as I'm sure all the others will."

Pippin grinned and spoke for all of them, "Well of course we've got his back! He'll need some intelligent people on this mission…hacking…thing."

"Right," Frodo laughed, the knot in his stomach untying at the simple, friendly action. "How are we going to do this?"

"There are a few ways I've been thinking of. We can either go to the source directly on Sauron's computer, but that could take time, time that we may not have," Gandalf explained. "The other option is through hacking software. By downloading a hacking program onto your USB, you can use it to go through Sauron's computer, locate the Ring, and save it to your USB without leaving a trace."

"That's the way we should go," Gimli announced proudly. "And I've got the perfect software for it. Me and my friends use it to share music. It's called Moria. I can show you all how to run it."

"Moria? That's not safe at all! That's probably the most illegal way of file sharing there is! School computers are loaded with anti-virus protection," Legolas scoffed, momentarily forgetting their friendship and reverting back to his stuck-up, self-assured ways.

Gimli glared back at him, all traces of friendliness and pride gone from his face. Even though they were the best of friends now, they could still fight like cats and dogs and get on each other's last nerve like there was no tomorrow. Sensing an impending fight or worse, Aragorn stepped in with a solution.

"Since Frodo is the one doing this for us, he should get to decide which route we take," he mediated calmly, turning his attention to the short freshman beside him. "So what'll it be? Moria or direct downloading?"

Frodo retreated back into himself as all eyes turned to him questioningly. Closing his eyes for a long, thoughtful moment, he breathed a deep, calming sigh.

"Well, Moria does seem like the easiest route. But you'll have to teach me Gimli."

Gimli pumped a large, balled fist into the air, grinning broadly in victory and sending his ragged brown hair flying. He shot a triumphant, boastful smirk in Legolas' direction before calming down and agreeing to Frodo's request.

It was a small step forward, just creating this plan as they sat around Gandalf's small, crowded office. There was hardly room to stand amongst the elder counselor's many books and papers, but they had each settled nicely on the floor as they talked and laughed, sparking more ideas as the hours wore on. It had to end, of course, with each of them going their separate ways, but that didn't matter anymore. What did matter was that they were moving closer to their goal and they were doing it together.

* * *

Tuesday, in Aragorn's humble opinion, was the worst day of the week. Monday was bearable, because it was just something to get over with and move on with the week, Wednesday marked the middle, Thursday signaled the week coming to a close, and Friday, well, it was time for getting down on Friday. But Tuesday, it was nothing. After the horrors of Monday, the second day of the week brought nothing but misery and a bitter reminder that the worst was still to come before Friday.

The day was already bad enough, but Sauron had decided to make today even worse by calling all homerooms to yet another assembly, the seventh in a two-week time span. Aragorn slid his way through the crowd, his footfalls easy and quick, the beating of a moth's wings. His friends were already waiting by the door, standing off to the side and letting the flood of people rush in instead of attempting to push through themselves.

"Are you guys ready?" he asked upon reaching them, wearing a grim expression that matched each of his friends. They all looked tired and preoccupied, Frodo especially. It was only Gimli who looked slightly alive, his eyes bright as he paused mid-sentence about the "splendors of Moria."

"Dude, you need to chill it with Moria. It's just a program. Relax," Boromir snapped, crossing his arms slowly and threateningly across his chest and leaning against the wall, his glare worthy of his delinquent brother.

"It's not just a program! It's a brilliant innovation that was founded by some of my larger family extensions! It's beautifully designed and user-friendly. My old cousin Balin is currently the company's head," Gimli informed them proudly, his chest instinctively puffing out.

"Right. Can we just go inside?" Legolas asked desperately.

The flow of people was thinning to a trickle as the last, reluctant students and even a few grumbling teachers hurried inside. Mr. Halfelven was among them, dragging his usually nimble feet with Coach Glorfindel and Mr. Erestor. The three were practically inseparable by high school standards, always looking out for each other and swapping advice in the teacher's lounge.

"…yet another one of these! And they take away time from class! How can I teach the history of the _world _in one semester if there's a meeting every other day?!" Erestor was fuming as the trio strode towards the doors.

"We'll make it somehow. You know there's been rumors of protesting," Halfelven assured his friend. "I believe it's only a matter of time."

Upon passing the cringing resistance, Glorfindel sent Boromir and Aragorn one of his confident, warm smiles, "Better get inside. Don't want Sauron to disband your soccer team too."

And with that they were gone. The group breathed a collective sigh of relief. If their homeroom teacher had heard about their planning, it was all over. They knew, of course, that they could trust the teacher, but there really was no one they could trust when Sauron was interrogating students and threatening teachers' jobs left and right. Their worries gone, at least for a time, they trooped inside the darkened auditorium and took seats near the top of the coliseum-styled seats, looking almost directly down on the stage in the center of the seats.

Sauron took the stage, the crowd immediately silencing as one pointed black shoe clacked on the wooden floor. His walk across the stage to the podium was slow and exaggerated. He surveyed each and every student with cold, commanding eyes. He was in power and each look struck fear into the hearts of those who it fell upon. He was in power and he had control and he knew it. When he finally reached the podium, the entire room was tense and still with tension. Every pair of shoulders was tensed and hunched. Friends were huddled closer than before, teachers were half-scoffing, half-afraid, and the entire school paused in a terrifying, heavy moment of silence before Sauron's deep, thundering voice shook the auditorium.

"Students of my school! I must say I'm quite shocked and appalled by your actions this weekend," he began, his giant hands clenching the sides of the podium in rage. "I have not discovered who is responsible for this act of treason, but when I do, mark my words, the punishment will be swift, immediate, and painful!"

Alone in the back, the resistance was free to clutch about themselves. The freshmen turned to the older members for help and reassurance, while Aragorn, Legolas, and Boromir were just trying to keep order. Sauron continued to speak, seemingly unfazed by the electric reaction his words had sent through the school.

"In order to help me catch the student or students responsible for your forbidden homecoming dance, I have reached out to an old friend of mine. He's been specially trained in investigation and is an expert in catching and punishing criminals, such as those who disobeyed authority on Friday night.

"So, students, please welcome to Arnor High School, the new Head of Student Activity Investigation…Mr. Balrog!"

Sauron gestured with a pale, thin hand to the end of the stage. Upon following his gaze, Aragorn was greeted with the most intimidating monster of a man he had ever seen. His shoulders were wide and broad, broader than even Boromir's or his father's. He towered over Sauron, definitely at least six feet tall, and his muscles were pulsing and rippling, surging with every movement and almost borderline steroid muscles. His hair was black as night, even blacker than Sauron's, and was cut in a clean, military chop. His face was hardened and unforgiving and his eyes blazed with anger and hate, so much that they almost looked like fire.

He stepped up to speak, something about demanding respect and order and that Sauron was truly in charge. But Aragorn wasn't listening, not really. All he could pay attention to were those fiery orange eyes, so bright and burning that even from here he could see exactly who they were fixated on.

They were fixated on the resistance and they weren't going anywhere.

**Well, that's that. Head Investigator Balrog scares me, but ever since I read the books eight years ago I've been terrified of him anyway. Sorry it took so long to update, I've been exhausted from school and work, but I finally found time to write for you lovely people! Question time! Are you a musical fan (like me)? Have any favorites? Mine are Wicked, Mamma Mia, and Hairspray. Good Morning Baltimore! And Dancing Queen! And Defying Gravity! Too many loves! Oh, and I'm sorry for not replying to reviews last time around. This time I'll make them extra good!**


	10. All Fall Down

**You know what's amazing? I have 290 people reading this story from all across the world. On my traffic stats, it shows people from South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, Canada, Germany, the Philippines, Sweden, Iceland, Finland, Norway, the Netherlands, Poland, Denmark, Bulgaria, Colombia, Austria, Vietnam, Switzerland, Italy, Hungary, China, Great Britain, and the United States. I can't believe it. This silly little story about the Fellowship as high school kids has brought people from all around the globe together. Wow.**

**I love you guys. Each and every one of you readers. This is so crazy and I can hardly believe it. Never before have any of my stories been this popular. Thank you. **

**And now that I'm done talking about how bigheaded I'm getting over this, enjoy the story!**

In the comfort and solitude of his office, where he was completely alone with nothing but the silence and the darkness, Sauron tossed back his pale head and laughed, a deep, harsh sound. The blinds were tightly shut and the lights were off, leaving Sauron alone in the din of his office to laugh and to gloat. He smoothed back his greasy black hair and righted himself, his dark chuckle fading into the silence. He had more work to do, much more, but he couldn't focus, didn't want to focus. All that mattered was the Ring.

He shook the mouse next to his computer and the screen glowed to life, making his eyes sting from the sudden brightness. Without even thinking, he moved to open the Ring, the screen illuminating in a brilliant gold and the computer humming as it worked. It finally loaded, revealing in great detail Sauron's many plans and knowledge about everyone in the entire school. He spent a considerable amount of time scrolling through Gandalf's file; his never-ending suspicion had finally wavered over to the elder guidance counselor. Gandalf couldn't be a large threat to the plan, but if the time came he knew what he would do. That was the beauty of the Ring, not only did it save his plans and his knowledge, it provided him with more if he requested it.

It was a self-designed program. Sauron himself had forged it in Mount Doom Incorporated, a program and graphics company in Mordor City. His biggest fear was losing the Ring and everything on it, but in the back of his twisted, suspicious mind he knew that the only way the Ring could ever be truly lost was if it was taken back to Mount Doom and deleted with their master computer system where it was created. And that soothed him.

He couldn't do everything on his own, he knew that. The only reason he had even hired Mr. Balrog was because he couldn't do this on his own. He needed Balrog, he needed his strength and his anger and his ability to radiate fear into those around him. The Ring had acquired a surplus of knowledge on Balrog's origins for him, but for what he could tell, it was mostly rumors. They spoke of a childhood alone and in fear, in the darkness and the heat of Khazad-dum City. Balrog didn't just radiate fear, he _was_ fear, forged by anger and hatred and turned into the monster of a man he was today.

Balrog would do well. And that soothed him. He pulled away from the Ring's enticing grasp and leaned back in his chair, intertwining his skeletal fingers and staring out the slits of the blinds to the front of the school. He could barely make out the figures of the students trudging away from the school to head home. They were defeated, broken, and afraid. Sauron had taken whatever hope they had left and crushed it with a fiery, iron fist. Just as it should be. He was in power and no one was going to question that. His face contorted into a grotesque, dark smirk, but it quickly fell from his face when a loud, banging knock sounded at his door.

"Enter," he commanded.

In came Balrog, his face hardened and angry, even more so than usual. "Sir, there's been a disturbance outside."

"Take care of it, then!" he barked, scowling at Balrog's insolence.

"It's more protestors, sir."

That got Sauron moving. He leapt from his chair, squared his shoulders, and marched out of the office, bringing his ensemble with him, Saruman, Wormtongue the secretary, and Balrog trailing after him. They were the epitome of power and all in the halls cowered as they approached. A cruel smile played on Sauron's lips. He had won.

LINE.

Aragorn pressed his slim body against the wall as Sauron and his band of tyrants passed to the doors. He could feel his heart ramming against his chest in nervous, quickened beats, each hard and painful with nerves and fear. This was their one shot at getting the Ring. They couldn't fail now. They had come too far. His faith lay with Legolas, Merry, and Pippin to distract the administration while Frodo, Gimli, Sam, and Gandalf went to retrieve the Ring. If Legolas and the freshmen failed, it fell to him and Boromir to guard the office and give the retrievers enough time to escape.

"You ready, Captain?" There was no haughtiness, no teasing in Boromir's voice now. It was sincere and concerned and when Aragorn turned to look at his friend, he truly did look young and worried.

"Yup," he said, nodding grimly. "Let's go."

They crossed the foyer to the office doors and leaned against the wall nonchalantly, nodding discreetly when Mr. Gandalf ushered Frodo, Sam, and Gimli into the office. Gandalf for once looked stern and punishing, his long arms corralling the younger boys and his eyes betraying nothing of their plan. To a passerby, it would've looked like he was sending them to be punished by Sauron himself. Frodo and Aragorn locked eyes as he passed and Aragorn sent a small flash of a smile in his direction before Frodo disappeared into the office.

"It's on them now," Boromir sighed.

"Yup."

And they fell into silence, each unwilling to express their fears and hopes.

LINE.

Sam was beginning to wonder why he was even here. Frodo and Gimli were hunched over the computer, Frodo's USB hanging from the tower and Gimli's hands directing Frodo's actions. Gandalf, too, was hanging back, standing at the front of Sauron's office, leaning against his cane and staring through the door to the lobby. Frodo was feverishly opening Moria and preparing it for file transfer, listening precisely to Gimli's directions and directing Moria to begin to scavenge the computer for the Ring.

After what seemed like hours, Moria dinged and a notice flashed against the screen, warning them that it had indeed found the selected program and if they continued, all files would be moved from this computer onto Removable Disk A. With shaking hands, Frodo selected "yes" and the transfer began, the tiny little file folder moving back and forth across the screen. Gimli relaxed, smiling to himself in victory. The others, however, were not as hopeful. Sam knew that there was still a ways to go. He didn't know much about computers (or anything for that matter, unless it involved gardening and cooking), but he was fairly certain that it would take a decent amount of time to move the entire program from one computer to another.

A few more minutes dragged on, the little green bar showing the progress of the download was tantalizingly close to being completed. Frodo was still wringing his hands and his eyes were still darting from side to side like a nervous little squirrel. All Sam wanted to do was protect him and never see him like this again, but Frodo had taken up the burden of the Ring and Sam knew that no matter what he said, Frodo would always insist that the Ring was his responsibility. It was just the way he was; Frodo was as stubborn as his uncle and as determined as Aragorn. His friend wasn't the strongest or the most courageous, but Sam had no doubt that with the help of their friends, Frodo would be able to do this, whatever _this_ was going to be.

The computer dinged again and Sam was certain that the little, high ding was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Closing out of the program, Frodo removed the USB and double-checked to make sure there was no remnant of the Ring or Moria on Sauron's computer. He turned around to leave and gave Sam a weak smile, touching him on the shoulder lightly and gratefully.

Sam's heart lightened. They were done and they were leaving. It was over. They were safe. A feeling of comfort and safety washed over him and his tense shoulders drooped and loosened. But not a second after he had assured himself it was over, his fear sprang back, locking its hard, cold grip around his heart and paralyzing him once more.

Aragorn and Boromir were frantic outside, shouting random words and pounding on the door to the office's lobby, their frantic, afraid expressions seeming so small and far away through the door's window and the glass walls of the main office. Boromir jerked a finger desperately to the left and Sauron suddenly entered the picture, his mouth twisted in a sneer and his voice loud and commanding as he ordered Boromir and Aragorn to disperse.

"Out the window, out the window!" Gandalf finally hissed, hurrying them all toward the window and tearing the blinds up, letting blinding, pure sunlight into the room.

With a mighty heave, Gimli threw open the window and threw a stubby leg over the ledge, dropping to the grass below. Frodo went next, clenching his USB tightly in one hand. Sam didn't think twice about launching himself on the window, landing quite ungracefully next to Frodo. Gandalf threw one, long leg over the side, hissing in pain as his worn joints moved uncomfortably.

"Come on, Mr. Gandalf! You can make it!"

But as soon as the words left Frodo's mouth, the door burst open, the angry voice of Mr. Balrog filling the room. Sam's heart leaped to his throat and he couldn't breathe. They had been caught. Oh, Lord, it was over. Everything was over, school, his friends, the resistance, his life. It was all over. Time seemed to slow, the faces of those around him contorting into the same fear and sickness. But Gandalf was speaking, his own expression resigned and desperate.

"Fly, you fools," he whispered, his voice nothing but a breeze. "Fly."

Aragorn was running towards them suddenly and he scooped Frodo up with one arm, throwing the shocked freshman over his shoulder and running off again, circling behind the school. Boromir and Legolas were with him, Boromir throwing Sam over his shoulder and Legolas grabbing Gimli's hand and tearing off around the school.

As Sam rounded the corner atop Boromir's shoulder, his blonde curls bouncing against his tear-filled eyes and his chest ramming against the junior's broad, muscular shoulder, he watched Balrog remove Gandalf from the ledge with a harsh tug. He slammed the window shut behind him and Sam could only imagine what Sauron was saying now.

Boromir set him down as gently as he could on the dying grass behind the school and then turned away, crossing his arms angrily over his chest and glowering into the distance. Sam leaned against the wall of the school, breathing heavily and letting the tears flow freely. He felt a small yet powerful somebody throw their weight against him in a fierce hug and he opened his eyes to see Frodo embracing him tightly, his own tears streaming down his face as he sobbed desperately into Sam's shirt. Next to him, Merry and Frodo were holding each other as well, Merry doing his best to keep calm and soothe Frodo.

Even Gimli needed the companionship of one of his friends. Boromir had ceased glowering and now had a firm grip on Gimli's shoulders, holding the shorter boy in an awkward yet comforting embrace. Legolas looked like he was in shock, standing next to Aragorn with his mouth open and his graceful brow furrowed.

"We can't stay here," Aragorn said finally, his voice commanding as always but shaking slightly. "We have to go."

"Give them just a moment of rest," Boromir scoffed, gesturing towards the freshmen with sympathy.

Aragorn dipped his gaze, knowing he was about to play devil's advocate. "No. We go now. Come on, I've got my car. I can take us."

Gently, they led the freshmen to Aragorn's Jeep. It was hardly big enough to hold all of them, but everyone wanted to be close now anyway and they managed to cram, Legolas, Gimli, and the freshmen all into the back, while Boromir took the passenger seat and Aragorn drove. He drove with his emotions showing, giving the car way too much gas and maneuvering without thought. Boromir stared out the window the entire car trip and didn't say a word. The freshmen had calmed down considerably, but still held each other in one big hug. Legolas was feeling well enough again to croon the words to one of his Indie songs softly and the words relaxed Gimli into closing his eyes and trying to forget.

They were all trying to forget, to push the thoughts of the inevitable out of their minds. They knew that Gandalf would be gone the next day and would never come back. They knew that Sauron would know the Ring was gone and would blame Gandalf. They knew that he wouldn't be able to find it on him and would begin to search for it. They knew they had to move on and forget if they were going to finish the plan. They had to move on, for Gandalf, for the school, for themselves, for the destruction of the Ring.

It was Frodo who first broke the silence, his voice ragged and tired from crying, but determined and underlined with anger, "Let's finish this."

And they were all in agreement. For Gandalf, for Arnor High, for themselves.

**I think I made me a little sad there. Geez, I didn't think writing the firing of Gandalf would be this sad. I know there's still some unanswered questions, but all of those that have arisen this chapter will be answered in the next one. I have the next like seven chapters all planned out, look at me go! Sigh. Gandalf's fall always makes me sad. In my opinion, that's the saddest death in the books. But what do you guys think? Who's death was the worst? Boromir? Theoden? Denethor? The Witch-King (hehe)? Or was the passing of Frodo into the Undying Lands the worst? Let me know if you review!**


	11. The Morning After

**Wow, so I literally started this chapter like ten times and every time I hated it and scrapped it. This actually took forever, and school and work and my friends kept getting in the way. Sorry ya'll, but here it is! Chapter 11 at long last! **

**Oh and guys? THANK YOU FOR 100 REVIEWS! You guys are the best and thanks to the support you've given to this story, I feel like I've finally got my muse back! I write for ya'll. Now, onwards, to the story!**

Gimli sat alone in the cafeteria, flicking the rim of his Styrofoam cup and watching the stagnant dark liquid inside quiver with each flick of his meaty fingers. It was too early in the morning to think properly and he had picked up a cup of downright awful coffee from the convenience store by his house on his walk to school. But even the black, strong taste of the coffee wasn't enough to perk him up and ready him for the long day ahead.

Instead, it made his mind spin and his heart race, his thoughts turning once again to the day before. He had stopped by the broom closet office that Mr. Gandalf once inhabited, just to see if maybe they had been wrong, maybe Gandalf had been let off easy. But the door was locked, the lights were off, and when he peered through the door window, the room was completely empty. It was like Gandalf had never been there in the first place.

His thoughts, fueled by the madness of coffee, had turned bitter and regretful, but only because he was afraid. He didn't know what was going to happen to them, and he didn't know if they would be able to continue on without Mr. Gandalf as their leader. So he hunkered down and stared at the dirty white tabletop, watching with tired eyes and waiting for the arrival of the others. He was always the first one to arrive in the morning, but he was never this lonely. He had Mr. Gandalf to keep him company, but that, like so many other things, was a thing of the past now.

"You seem upset." The voice was clear and pure as it flowed like a mountain stream. Gimli's negative, lonesome thoughts immediately left him and he felt suddenly more awake and positive as he found the owner of the voice.

She stood against the wall of the cafeteria, one headphone stuck in her ear and the other cascading down against a flow of golden hair. She was young and small, but her face was bright with care and love even though Gimli had never once met her before. Her features were youthful and beautiful, but her eyes were filled with wisdom and reflected the places she had been, the people she had seen, and the lessons she had learned. Despite her young appearance, Gimli knew immediately she was much wiser beyond her tender looking years.

"I…my friends and I are in trouble," he admitted quietly, his eyes never leaving hers as she moved gracefully to sit across from him.

"Well, at least you're not alone," she gave him a small, encouraging smile. "I'm sure you all will get through it together."

Gimli arched a thick eyebrow suspiciously. This girl couldn't possibly know anything about him or his friends and yet he believed every word coming from her mouth.

"I guess. I just don't want to see anyone get hurt, but that already happened. What if it's safer just to give up and go back to normal?"

Her eyes flashed with a powerful, burning emotion but before Gimli could gauge it, it was gone, back to the serene clearness of before. "You can't. Without your friends, you'd have nothing. And friends are what are most important when times get tough. Giving up wouldn't solve anything, it would only leave you alone when you'd need them most."

Gimli sat back, stunned into silence. She was right. They were his friends and they couldn't abandon each other, not now. Not after they had come so far together. The girl threw a glance over her shoulder, blonde curls whipping back as she did so. At the entrance to the cafeteria, a tall, thin senior boy stood waiting, his silver eyes surveying the rows of tables. He had an aristocratic nose and a defined jaw, but kind eyes and a relaxed, graceful posture. His stern features broke out into a dazzling, warm smile when he spotted the girl and beckoned her over, his eyes clearly shining with affection.

"Well, that would be Celeborn," she informed him, rising from the table and gathering her things. "Listen…don't lose hope. You'll be fine."

And with that, she turned and waltzed off with Celeborn, her arm looped through his and both of them smiling as they sauntered off into the crowd. Emerging from the crowd outside the cafeteria came two familiar faces, smiling and greeting Gimli warmly even though their eyes were tired and their features were worried.

With Aragorn and Legolas with him, and the others coming soon, Gimli felt the slightest bit more hopeful. As long as they were together, they just might be all right.

LINE.

The late bell had rung and the hallways were empty as Boromir trudged down the west wing, his backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder and his stride slow. He wasn't about to hurry off to Theater just to have Mr. Gil-Galad yell at him for being late again. Theater class really wasn't worth the pretty girls who spent the period fawning over him whenever he got up to perform a sonnet. It was supposed to be an easy A, but Mr. Gil-Galad insisted on taking everything so seriously, so Boromir usually skipped and wandered the halls. It wasn't as if the eccentric drama teacher ever actually took attendance anyway.

He stopped at his locker and lazily combed through its small space for any pointless item. He was an expert at passing the time; it was all repetition. Repeat the same soccer drills, the same excuses to his father, the same plans with his friends. If he kept a rhythm, he could master anything and make the time fly. Just as he was about to shut the door to his locker, the bright flash of metal caught his eye and he reached into the far depths of his locker for it.

It was something cold and hard, smooth around the edges but rough and heavy enough to cause serious damage. In his hands were a pair of brass knuckles, firm and gold and polished so they shone like new. Maybe they were. All Boromir knew was that they weren't his and they could get him into serious trouble. But despite knowing this, he couldn't stop the feeling of strength and confidence that overtook him as he looked at the simple object in his hands.

Carefully, he slipped them on, secretly enjoying the cool feel of the metal against his skin. He closed his fingers into a fist and swung at the air, smirking slightly as the metal caught the light of the sun streaming in from the windows. He gently tugged them from his fingers and slipped them into the pocket of his leather jacket. He would keep them, at least until he figured out what to do with them. And in these hard times, who knew when he might really need them?

He shut his locker quietly and was about to turn away as a piece of paper fluttered to the ground from inside his locker. Written in perfect script were the words, "For protection. –C and G."

LINE.

They had taken to meeting by the soccer field at the end of the day. The field was far enough from the school that it would be private, but bordered the student parking lot so they would have easy access to their cars when it was time to go home. A great, old tree sheltered them from the sun or the rain and they leaned against its sturdy trunk and talked before leaving. The tree had been there when Arnor High was first built and had provided countless students with shade and relaxation and now, it was there for the resistance.

Boromir had passed his gift around first, refusing to throw out the brass knuckles and shoving them back into his pocket after he had showed everyone. There was no further argument about it, because secretly everyone agreed that a little extra precaution might be necessary nowadays. Everyone was a little on edge.

Legolas had gone next, leafing through an old book of Mr. Gandalf's and reading out strange quotes about seemingly nothing, but everyone knew that there was wisdom to be found in the old man's ramblings. They just had to wait and they would find it.

Sam had received a key, a simple, silver key hanging on the end of a chain. It was dismissed as nothing, even though his note had said "For when you are lost." He had insisted that they all seemed pretty lost right now, but was shot down when Gimli pointed out that they had no door for the key to go into.

Merry and Pippin had each received a radio, which, compared to the mysterious gifts the others had received, wasn't the greatest, but they were both happy and the note had read, "For when you're apart." Secretly, they hoped they would never be alone and in need of the walkie-talkies, but they had pocketed them anyway.

Aragorn himself had received a stunning class ring, with a green gem set in the gold and the inscription, "For the future" engraved on the inside. He had felt reluctant to slip it on, but after some encouragement from his friends it rested comfortably on his left hand like it was meant to be there.

And Frodo had gotten the strangest gift of all. A thick, paperback book rested in the freshman's lap. Legolas had flipped through it, scanning the tiny print with his clever eyes in mere minutes.

"It's a manual," he reported, snapping the book shut and handing it back to Frodo. "It's about the Ring."

Everyone stiffened slightly at the mention of it and all eyes immediately went to Frodo's backpack where they knew the USB was hidden.

"It says that the Ring was originally made at a place called Mount Doom Incorporated in Mordor City," Legolas continued. "And the only way we can get rid of it is by taking it there."

"Mordor City?" Boromir repeated with a disgusted shake of his head. "You'd have to be crazy to go there. First you'd have to cross through Ithilien and that town's bad news, and Mordor City itself is too dangerous for a group of kids. If we want to get this done, we need to give the Ring to my father. He'll be able to expose Sauron with it."

"Right, like a politician is the most trustworthy man in the world," Gimli barked with a roll of his eyes. "We don't know who we can trust anymore."

"He's my _father_," Boromir snapped. "I think we can trust him!"

"How is bringing it to him going to change anything? It's not like he would listen to you, you said so yourself!" Legolas pointed out.

"But it's worth a shot," Pippin added, looking up at Boromir for some sign of approval, but the junior was too busy glaring at Legolas and Gimli and arming himself with a response to even acknowledge the hopeful freshman below him.

"All right, all right, that's enough!" Aragorn cried, crossing his arms and regarding them all sternly. "We're friends and we're not going to fight over this. The point is, the Ring is safe and Sauron hasn't given us any trouble yet. We can decide later. Right now, let's just go home and relax and try to get ready for tomorrow, all right?"

There was a rumble of agreement and apologies throughout the group and they each gathered their things and went off their separate ways. The mood was lighter again and the mysterious gifts from C and G had given everyone the faintest spark of hope. No one had seemed to notice that Gimli walked home empty-handed that day.

But Gimli didn't care, not really. His heart was light and he was smiling as he made the trek home from school. In his mind, he had received the greatest gift of all from C and G. He had met them and they had given him and his friends their hope back.

**It feels…like a filler chapter. And I don't like fillers. But I had to build up some sort of climax for next chapter because it's already in Stage 2 planning and it's going really well. Thanks for waiting for this chapter, please review, and Chapter 12 will be up before you know it! **


	12. For The Best

They were alone at the tree that day. The bell had rung long ago and the campus was a ghost town, more lonely and empty than Boromir had ever seen it. And yet, as he made his way across the lot, he knew that he would not be the only one at the tree. From here, he could make out a small form amongst the soccer field's dying grass and he smiled in spite of himself.

The sky was painted a faint blue; the trees themselves haloed by the setting sun and tinted gold. The air was crisp and he tightened his leather jacket around his broad shoulders. Winter still held its grasp on Arnor High, locking the air in constant stiffness. Every bluster of wind felt like glass and it was as if the air itself was breakable. But today, the air felt even more oppressive and still. The campus seemed to read Boromir's thoughts and radiate its disapproval. But Boromir didn't care. As he continued his walk in long, commanding strides, he echoed words he had heard countless times before.

_It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best._

He had to believe that. It was true, wasn't it? He was right. He always was. But that didn't stop the growing sense of anxiety and disgust that had sank into his stomach and sent his mind churning and spinning. But it was too late now. It had to be done.

It's for the best.

"Frodo!" he called, raising a hand in greeting. His voice sounded uncertain even to his own ears.

But if Frodo sensed the uncertainty, his usual warm smile and bright eyes didn't show it. He shielded his eyes from the setting winter sun and beckoned for Boromir to come over, making room for him under the long branches of the tree.

"Hey! How ya doing?" Frodo asked genially, the trust in his eyes only making Boromir feel worse.

"All right," he choked out, his lips quirking down in disapproval of himself.

Only then did Frodo begin to regard him strangely, an eyebrow raised and concern flooding his deep blue eyes. Boromir laughed awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair.

"Actually, Frodo," he began, looking down seriously at the freshman. "I have an idea, but I'm going to need your help."

He didn't give Frodo a chance to respond. His words were tumbling out now before he could stop them and he had no idea what had come over him, but whatever it was, it was in total control.

"You see, I _know _the others are wrong about my father. He can help us. I just need the Ring!"

Frodo's face darkened and he moved to stand up, "Not this again, Boromir! Listen, I…"

"No!" Boromir roared, yanking the small freshman down with a powerful hand. He leapt to his feet, keeping a strong grip on Frodo's shoulder. "Give it to me! You just don't understand! We need it."

Anger had built up within him, more powerful than anything he had ever experienced. It washed over him and suffocated him with its power, flushing out whoever he had once been and turning him into a monster he didn't recognize. It had been biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to release his pent-up frustration with Aragorn, with Frodo, with Legolas, with the Ring, with Sauron. And now the gates were broken, and they were certainly beyond repairing.

Frodo searched Boromir's eyes, shining with madness and yet filled with the sadness of a man lost. He wrenched himself from Boromir's grip and snatched his backpack from the ground, taking off at a record speed away from the tree.

"None of you understand! We're all doomed, don't you see that?!" Boromir shouted, his voice coated with hate and strained with absolute terror.

Frodo didn't look back, he couldn't look back. He couldn't face the remains of his friend. He refused to look upon the raging, terror that Boromir had become.

And then he heard his name again.

The call was different this time. A once proud and certain voice was shattered completely, shaking and breaking with fear and husky with loss.

But he kept going. He couldn't look back. He had to go, had to get out of here.

It was for the best.

* * *

Boromir sank to his knees, staring up at the tree and watching the sky move through the branches. It was darker now, but the campus was still alive. He could hear commotion at the stadium but his head was throbbing so much he didn't care about anything else around him. Above him, the sky was alive, moving and changing, ebbing and flowing with the clouds and the fading light. He slammed his right fist into the bark of the tree, splintering it and leaving a small crater and effectively tearing open the skin on his hands.

But he doesn't care. Not anymore. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he cursed himself, over and over, for being so stupid, so angry, so mistaken. He was ruined now, he knew. Frodo would tell the others and the others would never trust him again. It was over. He had failed.

Slowly, his senses come back to him, the pounding in his head dulls to a slow throb, and he rises from the ground slowly as if testing the waters. He looks out onto the dying soccer field and for the first time, he felt alone.

"Boromir! Boromir!"

He cringes at the sudden shatter of the silence and loneliness, but he turns and shades his eyes from the setting sun to see Merry and Pippin barreling towards him at full speed. But this is not one of their endless jokes, there's fear evident in their eyes and a pack of some of the meatiest guys Boromir has ever seen is trailing after them.

And the adrenaline kicks in again. Redemption is the only thought that crosses his mind as he breaks out into a sprint towards the freshmen. Something heavy whacks him from inside his jacket and suddenly he remembers: the brass knuckles. Not once faltering in his stride, he digs them out and slips them on. They glint in the sun as he runs and flash brightly when he slides to a halt. Merry and Pippin scurry behind him and he crouches in what he hopes is a predatory stance.

"There they are! Get 'em!" the first meathead announces, grinding to an awkward halt.

Boromir feels his heart clench as they catch up. He knows that symbol anywhere. On each of the meatheads' jackets is the stamp of the White Hand. These are no ordinary jocks. These are Saruman's self-appointed "student enforcement officers". They called themselves the Uruk-hai, the handpicked, oversized jocks that can get away with anything in the name of the Vice Principal. He tightens his fist so his brass knuckles have a firm hold and he lets loose an angry growl as the Uruk-hai circle around him, cracking their knuckles and chuckling a low, dark laugh.

He makes the first move, his left fist connecting with the closest Uruk jaw and sending a man down, clutching at the torn skin and potentially broken jaw with an awful moan. He doesn't have time to revel in his little victory, for the others are already upon him. Fists swing and he feels a kick connect sharply with his ribs, the air simply whooshing out of him in one swift motion. Yet he continues on, despite the stabbing feeling in his ribs.

The brass knuckles graze against flesh once more, drawing blood this time from the bare chest of another Uruk. The wind is knocked out of the meaty jock and he too connects with the ground, wincing in pain and not bothering to get up again. Two down, four to go.

A high-pitched war cry surprises him on his left and he turns to see Merry and Pippin on the back of another Uruk, pulling at his hair and scratching at his face. Boromir whirls around and aims a kick at his groin and with an audible moan, three Uruk have been defeated. Boromir briefly turns his back to the remaining three to help Merry and Pippin up from their fall. It was his fatal mistake.

The last three Uruk-hai were considerably smarter than the rest. Two of them launch forward and take advantage of Boromir's distraction, each grabbing a tight and painful hold of his arms and forcing him on his knees. He struggles and kicks, but their hold is too strong for even Boromir. The third Uruk cackles nastily and takes a powerful swing at his face. It connects painfully and he feels a warm stream of blood flow down from his nose.

The Uruk looks as if he's prepared to kick him in the ribs again and Boromir can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He tells himself to prepare himself and be strong, but the pain in his ribs is already too great to handle. He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, throwing his head back and up to the sky and pleading silently for help.

"You there!" The voice is so melodic and pure that Boromir relaxes instantly in the Uruk-hais' grip. He opens his eyes and blinks at the bright whiteness before him.

Vice Principal Saruman himself stands before him. Where he came from, Boromir has no idea, but he had never been happier to see that ridiculous beard or pure white suit. The Uruk-hai stand at rapt attention, but one still keeps Boromir on his knees in a grip he knows he can't escape from.

"We found this _junior_," spat the first Uruk. "With these."

Two pieces of gold flash in the pale sun and Boromir's heart sinks instantly. He hadn't realized the Uruk-hai had gotten ahold of his brass knuckles. He had all but forgotten he had them on.

"Weapons," Saruman said gravely, his voice a perfect baritone even in speech. "On campus. Mr. Whitetree, I hope you know you are in serious trouble for this. We have a zero-tolerance policy here at Arnor. Such behavior could lead to suspension or expulsion!"

"But he didn't do anyth—" Pippin began, but he stops as soon as Saruman's steely gaze fixes on him.

"And as for you two, I assume you were in on this little fight," he says pointedly. "Come along now. We're going to settle this in my office."

The Uruk releases his grip on Boromir's broad shoulder and he rises to his feet on aching knees. He stretches his long legs out and rolls his shoulders, rubbing his left shoulder gently before succumbing to Saruman's long arm shepherding him along with Merry and Pippin. The Uruk-hai begin to follow, but Saruman stops them.

"Thank you, boys. That will do. Attend to your friends."

The Uruk-hai give their master a nod of respect and Saruman turns again, facing toward the school and beginning the walk toward it, his stride filled with the confidence of a strong ruler. Boromir followed, Merry and Pippin trying in vain to keep up with his long stride. His ribs ached and his head was pounding again, but he was still hurrying, away from the tree and the field and the Uruk-hai, as if leaving would make the past go away.

He only turned back once, his reason why even he didn't know. But when he did look back, the Uruk-hai were laughing.

* * *

The car was cold and silent, save for the pounding of the rain against the windshield while the friends pressed on against the elements. The familiar streets were lathered with rain and surrounded by gray and Aragorn could hardly see where he was going. The headlights of other cars flashed around them, illuminating the dim day for just a moment. Legolas was grim beside him and Gimli made no sound in the backseat, save for the occasional sigh.

They rounded a corner and pulled down a familiar street lined with houses that practically screamed the wealth of the owners. Aragorn slowed his car and circled around into the Whitetree estate driveway. They paused for a moment, still in silence as Aragorn cut the engine. Through the rain cascading down the window, he could make out the broad-shouldered silhouette of Boromir and a smaller, but commanding presence next to him. Pulling his hood around his dark locks, he nodded to his friends and in one harmonious motion, they clambered out of the car and into the rain.

It was cold and biting against Aragorn's skin, even with his soccer sweatshirt pulled over his lithe form. Boromir turned to them, his face seeming even more stern and dark with his eye black and a cut above his upper lip.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked breathlessly, his eyes interrogating Boromir's every feature.

"I fought with…" his voice sounded like he was leaving something vital out as he paused. "some of Saruman's meatheads and they found my brass knuckles and…" here he heaved a great sigh and shook his head, droplets of water flecking his hair. "They expelled me. Merry and Pippin are suspended and…"

He shook his head again and dropped his gaze to the gravel on his driveway. "Father is sending me off to Hall of Mandos Boarding School to whip me into shape. I'm sorry. I failed."

Aragorn steals a glance at the man he knows as Mayor Denethor Whitetree. He looks as cold as the rain falling around him and his steel gray hair is neatly combed and parted. He holds an umbrella rather aristocratically above his pristine black suit and doesn't even bother to return Aragorn's gaze. He simply stands and watches his son, radiating his disappointment and sorrow. There is no anger, no disapproval, just sadness and silence.

He places a brotherly hand on Boromir's shoulder, "It'll be all right. We'll carry on and so will you. And someday, we'll all be fine again."

And Boromir suddenly looks so lost and afraid and alone. Emotion overcomes him and he throws his arms around Aragorn's shoulders and gives him a fierce, tight, brotherly hug. Aragorn slips his arms around Boromir's own broad shoulders and hugs him back. He gives a small, resigned sigh. He knows just how much he's going to miss the man that had become his best friend.

"Boromir," Denethor interrupts sharply. "It's time to go."

Boromir releases him and gives an awkward cough, "I would've followed you, you know." He turns away and refuses to look at him again. "You're my captain, my brother. Good luck, Aragorn."

It was the first time Boromir had ever used his name. Aragorn opens his mouth to respond, but no words can come. Legolas claps a hand on his shoulder lightly and Gimli stands beside him, scratching at his whiskers and staring sadly at Boromir's retreating figure.

Denethor shakes out his umbrella, closes it, and disappears into the warm town car waiting to carry them to Hall of Mandos. He still doesn't look at Boromir or his friends, but Aragorn can sense the man's impatience. Boromir still doesn't turn around, but his shoulders have sagged from their usual proud stance and his stride is weary and slow.

"Goodbye, guys," he murmurs, still looking down at the ground. "I'm going to miss you."

And with that, he climbs into the town car next to his father, slams the door shut, and drives off. He can feel the eyes of his friends watching him as he goes and he wonders if this is what it feels like to have your heart broken. He's never felt worse before in his life and it's almost as if a part of him was left behind with his friends, with his school. Nothing will ever be the same.

Again he thinks of Frodo and of his grievous mistake. Again he wishes he could turn back time. But it's too late. What's done is done and he hears his father's words echo in his mind again.

_It's for the best._

**Well, there you have it folks. Another chapter pumped out from yours truly! I'm glad I'm writing again, I'd been getting so busy recently! So, what's going on in your life? I've got work and school of course, but it's March so that means the school musical Oklahoma! will be out soon! It's gonna be great! So what's up with you? Let me know if you review and hopefully I'll get around to replying to these. I've been so bad at that recently...anyway, hope you enjoyed and have an A+ day!**


	13. Addition and Subtraction

**Happy Spring Break 2013 everybody! I don't know about you, but this girl is making the most of her break by writing fan fiction, seeing Wicked for the twentieth time, and going to the movies over and over. This chapter was actually really hard for me to write; after Boromir's "death" I hit a wall again. But at long last, our story continues! **

It was strange indeed to be alone here. After being surrounded, protected even, by so many of his friends, sitting alone as the sun disappeared behind the tall city buildings was unsettling. But he had no choice. It was best for him to continue on, alone. His incident with Boromir had shook him to his very core and he knew with utmost certainty and clarity that the Ring had to be destroyed, and soon. The setting sun was still bright, flashing against the glass panels of the skyscraper, here at the end of the bus line. The last stop in the city before crossing over into the next county where Mordor City sat, looming and dark even in the light of the sun. From his seat at the bus stop, Frodo could see the faded outline of the Mordor City skyline, dark and hazy against a polluted sky.

In the street, cars rushed by, the drivers so wrapped up in their own lives and worries that they hardly noticed the young man sitting alone and dejected at the end of the bus line. Soon the bus would come and open up its doors and Frodo would stand and climb the steps, sit in the back alone and watch the minutes pass until the sky grew dark with smog and the buildings too tall to see past and the inhabitants dirty with factory soot and grime and with eyes glistening with desperation. Frodo shuddered into himself, tugging his long coat closer. It was a gift from Bilbo, sharp, gray, and very protective. A wave of guilt washed over him; he hadn't even told Bilbo where he was going and when he would be back. If he would be back. He knew that that was slightly melodramatic, but he also knew that Mordor City was dangerous. Much too dangerous for a small freshman such as himself to be traversing on his own. But he didn't have a choice.

His hand dug deep into the oversized pockets of his coat and located his phone. Taking the slim device in his hand, he slid it out and observed the screen. It was overflowing with messages, from Merry and Pippin, Aragorn, Bilbo, and worst of all, Sam. Even Sam didn't know and he was probably as worried as Bilbo right now. But Frodo simply didn't have the words to tell them what he was doing. Even he wasn't quite sure what his plan was.

Down the road at the intersection, the bus was approaching, its engine roaring as it lurched forward. In a matter of minutes it would be here and Frodo would get on and soon Mordor City would be a reality, instead of a name that made even Aragorn and Boromir cringe. Frodo rose unsteadily to his feet, one hand instinctively reaching for the gold chain around his neck and locating the USB that held the Ring with ease. It calmed him only slightly, but it was enough to remind him what had to be done and that he was the one who had to do it.

"Frodo!"

The bus was almost here now. Soon there would be no turning back and Frodo would be on his own.

"Frodo!"

His ears perked up that time and he whirled around, his eyes searching the crowd for anyone familiar. His heart clenched when he saw. Golden hair and a determined, deep-set expression in a simple, honest face. Slightly rotund belly but fast legs and strong arms. It was Sam. It was his Samwise Gamgee and he had come for him.

"Frodo! You're not going alone!" Sam caught up to him, puffing and leaning down on his knees.

The bus rolled into the stop, its breaks squeaking at an unsettlingly high pitch. It emptied fast, leaving only a few passengers onboard. No one moved to get on. Frodo looked his friend up and down, overcome with too many emotions to possibly begin to express. He was angry, he was upset, he was relieved, he was afraid…he just didn't know anymore.

"Kid, are ya comin'?" The driver asked impatiently, leaning toward the two freshmen and cocking a thick, dark eyebrow in question.

"Yes," Sam announced certainly. "We're coming."

He took Frodo's hand lightly in his own, cupping it carefully so that they were hardly touching at all and holding it higher up so he could lead him up the steps and onto the bus. He didn't let go while he fished a few dollar bills out of his pocket to pay and he didn't let go until they found a seat in the back, far away from the other three passengers.

"I wasn't going to let you go alone," he murmured, refusing to look at Frodo. "You're my best friend."

The bus lurched forward, leaving Arnor High School and their friends and everything they ever knew behind. Now only Mordor City lied ahead and an overwhelming sense of finality washed over Frodo. But now he wasn't here alone, rushing toward the end of the line. He threw his arms around Sam's wide frame and hugged him tightly and said his first words to him since he had arrived.

"Thank you, Sam."

LINE

_And then there were three. Let's call it "The Three Hunters"._

Aragorn's brow furrowed at the hurriedly scrawled message and he flattened the crumpled paper on his desk and held his head in his hands, rubbing the center of his suddenly aching forehead. Study hall never failed to give him a throbbing, dull ache in the back of his head, but now, sitting in the library across from Legolas and Gimli, a sense of pure annoyance and loneliness washed over him. They still had another hour left in here and with Mr. Erestor watching over the entire study hall, they had no hope of even whispering without his stern, keen glare finding them and silencing them.

Gimli had settled for writing a note and slipping it across the table to Aragorn, but he had no interest in even thinking. Not now, anyway. Gandalf was gone, Boromir was gone, Frodo and Sam hadn't showed up to school yesterday or this morning, and Merry and Pippin were suspended for Eru knows how long. They couldn't even set foot on campus during school hours without getting in trouble, but Aragorn hoped that they would return soon. The resistance was crumbling from the inside out and Aragorn simply didn't have the strength to keep it together anymore.

_We need more help. I want to go see Eomer after school._

He scribbled down the note and shoved it across the table, Legolas and Gimli instantly leaning in together for a peak. This time, it was Legolas who grabbed the paper and scripted his thoughts.

_Eomer? Are you sure he would help? He hasn't spoken to us in ages and no one knows what happened to Theoden._

Aragorn's brow furrowed. It was true that Theoden had fallen unusually quiet and distant lately, speaking only to Eomer and Eowyn, his favorite students and prized baseball players. Theoden had spent many years coaching the baseball and softball teams as well as announcing for the football games, but he had become very secretive as of late. The few times Aragorn found himself in the west wing where Theoden's office was located, he had seen Eomer, Eowyn, and a few others from the baseball and softball teams crowded around a closed, blinded door while Theoden conferenced with Grima, Saruman's greasy secretary. No one knew what was happening, but everyone was smart enough to be frightened.

_It's worth a shot. We have nowhere else to turn. We need more help if this is going to work out._

If Legolas and Gimli had any more protests, they kept them to themselves. Aragorn leaned back in his chair and waited to see if they had anything else to say, but the two friends just refocused on their books and left Aragorn in beautiful peace and quiet. For just a short time, Aragorn allowed himself to be lost in the magical world of chemistry and forget about any problems bigger than the mole formulas. Anything bigger and more consuming than that could wait, at least for now.

LINE

As suspected, the door to Theoden's office was shut tight and the blinds were closed. The only proof that the office was occupied was the shadows dancing against the blinds. Aragorn could easily pick out the tired yet kingly frame of Mr. Theoden sitting behind his desk, his graying hair combed back and his pointed, regal profile hung low as the room's other occupant stood high over him. He was hunched over, leaning threateningly across Theoden's desk and his thin, lean body slithering like a snake as he spoke.

"Wingfoot?" A deep, strong baritone asked, not even attempting to hide the surprise from it.

Aragorn turned around and faced Eomer. He looked exactly as he had the last time Aragorn had seen him. They were former soccer teammates at a private club in town, but they had drifted apart, Aragorn to the school's soccer team and Eomer focusing more on baseball and his sister. "Wingfoot" was an old nickname from their long-gone days together. But now here he was, just as blonde and as tall as ever. His hair still fell slightly longer over his brow and his eyes were still fierce and proud. Golden blonde stubble shadowed his defined, kingly jaw and his entire body seemed to radiate strength. He was always broad-shouldered and heavy muscled like Boromir, but his legs were lean and lithe like Aragorn.

"How's it going, Eomer?" Aragorn held out a hand in greeting and Eomer clasped it firmly in his own large grip.

"Honestly? Not good. I haven't been allowed in Theoden's office for days and Saruman is still on the prowl," Eomer ran a hand through his thick hair in exasperation. "I heard about your friend, Boromir Whitetree? I'm sorry. He was a good player…even we knew that."

Aragorn nodded solemnly and next to him, Legolas and Gimli bowed their heads. It wasn't as if Boromir had died, but his absence still left an aching pang in their hearts.

"Actually, Eomer, that's what we're here for," Aragorn began. "My friends, Legolas, and Gimli, and I were sort of…a resistance."

Eomer's eyebrows shot up behind the curtain of blonde hair and he looked at them incredulously. "That was you? The homecoming dance? It was…"

"Keep your voice down!" Gimli hissed, his eyes darting suspiciously around the empty hallway.

"Yes, it was us," Aragorn said, his tone resigned. "But we're all that's left. Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took, they're freshmen who were with us, they got suspended and we need more help."

Eomer seemed to fully grasp what Aragorn was asking of him and heaved a struggling sigh. "Wingfoot, you know I want to help. But Theoden…and Eowyn."

"What about me?" And there she was. Eowyn Rohan, Eomer's sister and star of Theoden's softball team, was hurrying down the hall toward them. Her blonde hair flew out behind her, giving her an almost ethereal glow and her fair features were set hard in determination and scarred with sorrow.

Aragorn stiffened and stood up straighter. Here was a girl who had grown up too quickly. Eomer had always been stoic and mature, but it was only recently that Eowyn began to take things more seriously. Aragorn suspected it had to do with Theoden's sudden silence and disorientation.

"It's nothing," Eomer assured her, but she didn't look convinced.

"Hello, Wingfoot," she greeted Aragorn stiffly. "I haven't seen you for a while."

"I know," he answered, refusing to meet her icy blue eyes.

"I heard about your resistance," she commented lazily, twirling a golden curl around one finger. "I think it's great. I want to help, but…"

"No!" Eomer roars. "We have to take care of Theoden before we go running of with them! Don't you see?"

Aragorn's eyes widened with shock and he took a protective step closer to Eowyn and instinctively looped an arm around her waist, holding her tightly against his side and keeping one hand out toward Eomer. He knew better, of course, he had Arwen and he was certain that Eomer would never think of harming his sister. But he was so naturally protective that it wasn't until he had done it that he realized what he was doing. And then he realized that Eoywn was almost leaning into his hold and her arm had somehow found its way so it rested across his back.

Eomer was still glowering, but his famous temper seemed to have died down, replaced with an enlightened, scheming look in his eyes. "I'll tell you what, Wingfoot. If you help us with Theoden, we'll help you with your resistance."

Aragorn sidestepped awkwardly away from Eowyn and held out a hand to Eomer. He shook it roughly and Aragorn didn't miss the stronger, crushing grip that Eomer took his hand in now.

"Deal."

Eomer nodded and turned back toward the closed door of Theoden's office, dismissing the Three Hunters and not looking back as they started toward the stairwell.

Legolas fell into step next to Aragorn and leaned down to ask a hushed question, "How are you going to do that?"

And suddenly, Aragorn had an idea. It wasn't a very good idea. In fact, it was a downright impossible idea. But a lot of things that had happened this year could be considered impossible and Aragorn still had faith in the resistance. And that could just be enough.


	14. The Ranger of Ithilien

**Happy Summer 2013 everyone! School's out, my job is slowing down, and I've finally got time to write. I had planned on updating a long time ago, but life had gotten in the way. I hope y'all like this and that you haven't given up on me, because I'm not planning on abandoning this one! **

**Disclaimer: Although I've devoted much of my time to Lord of the Rings, I don't own it. Go figure.**

Sam's legs felt like jelly as he walked shakily down the steps of the bus, feeling the disapproving lazy eye of the bus driver on him as he steadied himself on the railing. Frodo stood behind him, wringing his hands and squinting into the powerful setting sun. Against its blazing orange light, Sam could barely perceive the outline of the hazy skyline of Mordor City, tall, foreboding, and looming.

"Sir," Sam began, his voice echoing in the space of the empty bus. "We need to get to Mordor City."

The bus driver guffawed disapprovingly, "The bus lines don't run there. Too dangerous. Ithilien's as far as they go."

"Take us to Ithilien, then," Sam urged.

"We are in Ithilien," the driver responded, lifting a thick eyebrow above his lazy eye. "Now, go on. You'll have to find another way to the City."

Not needing any further urging, Sam descended the steps and regarded the small town with caution. A few dilapidated houses lined the single strip of road cutting through the town. Not a person was in sight and the streetlamps flickered with disuse. Despite the seemingly desolate atmosphere in the town, the land surrounding it was breathtaking. Tall trees swayed in the breeze and long grass danced in the setting sun. It was a sanctuary of life, standing strong on the borders of darkness.

"I think we need to get something to eat," Frodo decided, watching as the bus lurched out of the station and down the road. He pointed toward the town. "There's a light down there."

They walked in silence down the disused sidewalks, avoiding large cracks and potholes and shielding their eyes from the powerful setting sun. The entire atmosphere of the town was somewhat unnerving to Sam, despite the beauty of the landscape. The town itself looked almost in ruins, while the land around it was teeming with life. Once this town was Minas Ithil, a scenic, lively city that was a popular destination for tourists and nature lovers. But years underneath the influence of Mordor City's pollution, high taxes, and land disputes had obviously driven people away. Only the bravest or most foolhardy people would stay here now. Sam tried to convince himself that he was one of these brave, foolish people as they walked, but he couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder again and again. He clenched his fists in preparation for a fight. Who knew what wandered in the shadows of this place?

"I feel like we're being followed," Sam whispered, leaning closer to Frodo as they walked.

"So do I," Frodo responded as he glanced over his shoulder again. This time, he knew he saw something dive behind one of the trash cans on the side of the road. "Hey! We see you!"

"Come out here!" Sam called, tightening his fists again to prevent them from shaking. He refused to allow his hands to reveal the tremor of his heart.

A slinking, small figure inched its way out of the shadows and Sam's eyes widened when he saw how its eyes glowed in the darkness of twilight. A stooped, pale figure stood before them, its long, bony fingers twitching nervously and its eyes darting back and forth in fear. Its face seemed deformed forever with permanent hate, hunger, and suspicion. A few strands of greasy, graying hair hung off of the man's small head and his legs were so small and weak that he stooped so low toward the ground, his thin arms almost dragging on the dirt. He was so pale he was almost like moonlight and his eyes were so large and glazed that Sam was almost positive that he was blind, but they shone with an unmistakable glint of trickery. The eyes looked them both up and down with suspicion, the mouth mumbled to itself, and then the hands reached forward, slowly, shaking, and the eyes widened into pure orbs of awe.

"Precious," the man hissed, so quietly it was almost lost in the warm wind. His tremulous fingers reached for the cord around Frodo's neck, and Frodo lunged backwards almost instantly, the Ring bouncing against his chest.

"Back off!" Sam cried, jumping in front of Frodo and spreading an arm toward him protectively, the other hand held out in warning toward the strange little man.

The man recoiled instantly, hunching over and glaring darkly at Sam. "He's gots it! He's gots the Ring. Thieves and riddles!"

"How do you know what this is?" Frodo said from behind Sam, stepping around his friend. "Who are you anyway?"

"Gollum, Gollum," he muttered. "Gollum worked for the master of the Ring, yes precious."

"You worked in Mordor City? In Mount Doom?" Sam asked testily, his eyebrows shooting up incredulously.

"Can you take us there? To Mount Doom?" Frodo blurted before Gollum could even answer or Sam could protest.

Gollum ceased muttering to himself and stood up slightly straighter, wringing his hands together and a strange spark lit itself in his eyes. His thin line of a mouth twitched into a half-smirk, but as quick as it was there it had disappeared again.

"Gollum will lead the kidses," he hissed. "If kidses repay him, precious."

"What do you want?" Frodo asked, shooting Sam a look that begged for his patience.

"We shall see, yes, we will see, precious," Gollum nodded vigorously.

Frodo and Sam exchanged a glance before Frodo broke out into an overly enthusiastic and friendly smile.

"All right then. Welcome aboard, Gollum," he said, his tone all too cheerful. "Come along, let's go find somewhere to eat."

The trio continued down the road, Sam focusing his energy onto glaring at Gollum. He already didn't trust this strange man who had worked for Mount Doom. His brain told him almost immediately that there was something off about him, something not right in Gollum's mind. The way he talked to himself, the way he slinked in the shadows, and the way his wide eyes seemed to never stay in one place were all triggers to Sam's immediate distrust. He would have to keep an eye on this slip of a shadow, because it was obvious where Gollum's eyes were focused: on the Ring around Frodo's neck.

Further down the road, they finally arrived at the brightly lit diner Frodo had seen from the bus station. It was a small, greasy looking place with large windows looking into the restaurant from the front. When they opened the door and stepped inside, a bell tinkled above them and they were immediately greeted by the strong smell of fried food. The room was filled with tired tables and faded booths and an old song played softly over the speakers. Frodo led the group to a booth in the back corner and slid into it. They sat, waiting, for a few brief moments until commotion rose from the kitchen and the double doors flew open, allowing a young man entrance into the dining area.

He approached the table with a small smile of greeting on his wise face. He was young; Frodo imagined him only to be a year older than he and Sam, but something about his face and the way he carried himself seemed ancient and wise. He gave off a noble air, not as strong as Aragorn's or as confident as Boromir's, but something sadder and more subtle. His gray eyes shone with kindness, but deep within their depths lurked a sense of loss. It was clear that he had seen much during his short years, but was braver and wiser despite that. He brushed long copper locks out of his eyes before looking down at the three at the table, but the smile soon fell from his face when he laid eyes on Gollum.

"No, no!" He cried, pulling Gollum by the collar of his grimy shirt and tossing him out of the booth. "You know you're not allowed here! Out!"

He watched Gollum slink out of the diner and plop down on the ground outside before turning back to Frodo and Sam, the smile once again back on his face, this time somewhat apologetic.

"Hello, welcome to the Osgiliath Café, I'm Faramir. What can I get ya?"

"Why did you toss him out?" Frodo questioned.

"Gollum?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. "He's trouble. Local gossip says that he used to work at Mount Doom and none of us really trust people from the City. They're always trouble, starting fights and stealing things. People say Gollum stole some important software or something from the company and they chased him around for months before they found him. He's insane and he's dangerous, always going on about the Ring or whatever. I'd stay away if I were you two. Now, what do you want to eat?"

Frodo picked up the menu and feigned interest in its meager options. "Have you ever been to Mordor City?"

Sam knew Frodo was trying to sound like he was making light, airy small talk, but Faramir seemed far too inquisitive to be fooled. In fact, when Sam looked up and stole a glance at the tall boy, he noticed the way Faramir was smiling knowingly, one eyebrow quirked in uncertainty.

"Very curious, aren't we? No, I have not. I try to stay out of trouble here. I have a question for you, now, if you don't mind."

"Shoot," Frodo offered, looking down at the menu again.

"How are things at Arnor High?" Faramir glanced down at Sam's loosely fitting Arnor High School sweatshirt and smiled sadly, almost reminiscently. "Did you know my brother, Boromir Whitetree? He's a junior, on the soccer team?"

Sam and Frodo exchanged a wary glance. Had Faramir not heard of Boromir's expulsion? What was Boromir's younger brother doing out here anyway? Frodo was the one who decided to come clean with the whole story. As he recounted the tale, Faramir seemed to retreat into himself with defeat, sinking down into the booth and running a hand through his hair nervously.

"He was really brave though, Mr. Faramir," Sam assured him after seeing the forlorn look on his face. "I saw part of the fight with the Uruks. He saved our friends, Merry and Pippin."

Faramir nodded blankly. "Halls of Mandos, though. So far away…so closed off from the rest of the world. I may never see him again, not as long as I'm here."

"Why are you here?" Sam blurted before he could stop himself. When Faramir's eyes fixed on him, he blushed a deep shade of scarlet.

"My father, Mayor Denethor Whitetree, sent me here to work and keep an eye on Mordor City. We don't exactly get along, not since my mother passed away, so he finally sent me here to 'be useful'. It's all right thought. It's beautiful out here and quiet and I don't have to worry about school or my father." Faramir shrugged noncommittally.

"You should go back, Faramir," Frodo urged. "They need your help at school. The new principal runs it like a dictator and we've been trying to take him down. That's why we're here. To destroy this." He tugged out the chord from underneath his shirt and the Ring dangled and flashed in the dim light of the diner.

"A USB drive?" Faramir raised an eyebrow.

"No, the Ring! Sauron's personal computer program that he relies on for everything," he explained.

Faramir's eyes widened and he remained silent and contemplative for a few moments before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. In a low voice, almost threateningly, he murmured, "This is the kind of thing my father would want me to tell him about."

Frodo felt his stomach sink like a stone to the bottom of a deep and murky lake. He had been too trusting with this seemingly innocent and wise young man, and now it would come back to him. He didn't look up to challenge Faramir, knowing that he hardly stood a chance, and he didn't say a word as he felt Faramir's dark eyes settle on him again. Sam stiffened beside him and a low, disapproving rumble came from deep within him. His brown eyes flashed angrily and he met Faramir's gaze boldly, his only wish to protect Frodo and the Ring and continue on to Mordor City. But when he met Faramir's eyes, he saw no sign of betrayal or thievery there. Instead, he looked so very earnest and harmless. His eyes, the very path into one's soul, were kind and thoughtful. Slowly, Sam relaxed under the watchful gaze of the young man across from him.

Startled by the sudden hostility, Faramir had tensed up and his usually quick and well-versed tongue had fallen silent. But when Sam relaxed, the tension seemed to ease from the air and he felt it safe to continue without further injury. "But I won't. I'll give you guys some food on the house and you can get on your way."

They leaned back in the tired old booth seats, stunned. Frodo was the first to speak. "But what about you? Won't your father be angry with you?"

Everyone had heard of Mayor Denethor's famous temper and it was the general consensus of the population to stay away and avoid confrontation if possible. It seemed that Faramir, the stranger who had been so generous to Frodo and Sam for practically no other reason besides the fact that they were friends with Boromir, would certainly fall under Denethor's scathing gaze and face stern punishment. But when confronted about this matter, Faramir just shrugged.

"I'm doing what I think is right and that's good enough for me," he flashed a small smile. "And besides, I'm going to go back and try to amend things anyway. I want to help your friends."

Faramir let out a content sigh and a peaceful look came across his face. It would be good to be back at Arnor, walk down the old halls, see familiar faces, do something worthwhile, instead of hiding away from the world and submitting to his father's every command. He had longed for his father's approval for too long now, and it was time to start making his own way in the world, starting with Frodo and Sam's resistance. Maybe then, he would feel like he was doing something beneficial, something that would make him happy and make Boromir nod and beam with pride and clap him on the back and say, "That's my little brother!" It was time for him to move forward, to find himself.

He smiled at the freshmen across the table and rose to his feet, scooting out of the booth and motioning for them to follow him. He continued to talk over his shoulder as they walked.

"I'll get you some food and then you can stay at my flat until tomorrow morning, all right?"

Faramir untied the apron from around his lean but muscular form and discarded it behind the counter. He disappeared briefly into the kitchen and then returned, toting a paper bag with a grease stain already forming on the side and wearing a jacket over his work clothes.

"Mablung and Damrod said they'd cover for me," he said, gesturing to two tall, dark-haired guys in the kitchen. "Now, come on."

"What about Gollum?" Frodo asked once they were outside the restaurant.

Faramir looked up and down the road, tightening his leather jacket around his shoulders as the wind whipped around them. "He'll find you tomorrow morning. If he was serious about helping you, and you were serious about paying him, he'll come."

Without another word, he hurried them across the street and around the back of what looked like a car repair shop. Faramir clunked up a few rusty metal stairs and dug out a key from his pocket. After fiddling with the clearly ancient lock on the door, he pushed it open and flicked on the light, moving aside to allow Frodo and Sam entry.

"It's not much," he said rather sheepishly. "But it's home, I guess."

He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much. The entire "flat" was one big room, with a sagging leather couch and a TV that looked like it was from the 90s, a small, dirty kitchen in the corner, and a kitchen table that was certainly ready to be chopped into firewood. A messy bed sat in the corner opposite the kitchen, positioned next to the only window in the flat. But it wasn't the dinginess or the small size of the place that surprised Frodo and Sam; it was the sheer amount of books. Stacks of books lined every wall, books were strewn on the kitchen table and the couch, books littered the floor in random places. It was almost laughable.

"The bathroom's through here," Faramir offered lamely, gesturing to a door by the kitchen. "Make yourselves at home. You can have the bed tonight, I'll take the couch."

It wasn't until Faramir said those words that Frodo realized how truly tired he was. He had spent all day on that hot, loud bus and most of that time on the trip he had spent worrying and thinking awful, nervous thoughts. He needed the rest, needed a real bed. With a grateful smile to Faramir, he crossed the flat and curled up in Faramir's bed, enjoying the warmth and softness of the sheets and the smell of printed word all around him. As he drifted off into sleep, he heard Sam munching quietly on the food Faramir had gotten for them. He heard Faramir rustling around, shoving things into a bag, and singing under his breath a faint, hopeful tune.

* * *

The sun was just barely making an appearance over the grim outline of Mordor City when Frodo, Sam, and Faramir descended the stairs from Faramir's flat for the last time, for all of them. Faramir had a bag slung over his shoulder, filled to the brim with clothes and a few of his favorite books. He had wanted to take all of them, but he knew that it would be impossible to do so.

"I'll come back one day, after this is over, and get them," he promised himself as he stared into the sun, not caring that it stung so much it brought tears to his eyes.

He was going to miss this place, even if he didn't want to admit it, even if he was certain that leaving was for the better. But it certainly wasn't for good, he knew he would be back some day. He had fallen in love with Ithilien, with its green fields and swaying grass and tall trees and babbling streams. He had fallen in love with the sanctuary it had given him from all his past troubles, all the things he was going back to face. A strange sort of eagerness fluttered within him. Going back meant he would have to face his father and face his past, but hearing Frodo and Sam describe the resistance, their friends, and all the good they had been doing, it had been enough to convince Faramir that he was doing the right thing. And he couldn't wait to get there and be a part of the good.

Turning now to the freshmen, he pointed in the direction of Mordor City, "It's not a long walk to the City. Once you get there, keep your head down. Move fast. Mount Doom is at its center. Don't go anywhere except there."

A shadowy figured moved across the road, slinking behind the Dumpsters by Osgiliath Café. Faramir smiled humorlessly down at Frodo and Sam, "There's your guide."

"I knew he'd come," Frodo said, sounding relieved. Sam just scowled.

"Remember what I said," Faramir cautioned. "I'm going to head back to Arnor High. I hope I'll see you there again."

He kneeled down in front of the two freshmen and embraced them both, ignoring the ache that had formed in his heart. When he stood again, he tugged his jacket over his shoulders and slung his bag around his back. He rolled a sleek, black motorcycle from underneath the stairs to his flat and prepared to mount up. Ramming his foot into the kickstand, Faramir slung one long leg over the bike and revved the engine.

"Good luck, you guys," he called over the engine. "Come back in one piece, okay?"

Frodo smiled at him, a smile of utter gratitude and admiration. "Thank you, Faramir. We won't forget you."

"Neither will I," he promised.

The three of them stood there for a moment, Faramir standing with his motorcycle purring between his legs, Frodo and Sam tightening their packs on their backs. The shadow from across the street slinked closer and all at once, they knew it was time to go. Without a word, they exchanged a goodbye more powerful than any words could supply, a goodbye of pure emotion and hope.

Gollum crossed the road and met with the two freshmen. Briefly, they discussed how they would get to the City, Gollum and Sam grumbling to one another while Frodo tried to mediate and caution Sam. When a tentative route had finally been established after a few minutes of bickering, they turned to say one last goodbye to the brother of Boromir. But when they turned to look, the only thing they could see was the faint outline of Faramir, riding off down the road on his motorcycle, the sun glinting off of his copper hair and dark jacket and dancing off of the sleek metal of his bike. He was headed home, to where he belonged; to finally do something he felt was right. And Frodo and Sam turned, their backs to Faramir's, and together the three friends took their first steps into different unknowns.

**This one's kind of a long one, at least by my standards. Anyway, I want some feedback for Faramir, so if you have any suggestions, comments, questions, or concerns about our beloved Faramir, drop me a line! If you have nothing to say about him, talk to me anyway! What are you doing this summer? Seen any good movies? Have any new favorite songs? Let me know and I'll do my best to respond! xoxo, RPN. **


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